About five years ago I got to work with the Presidential Commission on Good Government, the body assembled by the Aquino government to recover the ill-gotten wealth amassed by former President Ferdinand Marcos and his cronies, and to prosecute those responsible for the wanton plunder that had ravaged the national treasury for nearly two decades. One of my professors in law school, Victoria Avena, just happened to be a commissioner at the time.
It was a good time to be involved with the Commission, back then. The late Haydee Yorac was in charge, and was making it a point to staff her legal team with damned good lawyers, something that had, for the most part, been sorely missing from the PCGG's ranks since its inception in 1986. She wasn't about to take any shit from anybody, and was all about kicking ass and taking names. The famous Coco Levy decision that the Supreme Court handed down in December of 2001, which effectively took hundreds of millions out of the hands of former crony Danding Cojuangco was a victory to remember for the Commission and one hell of a morale booster.
I left the Commission late the next year, but nonetheless continued to follow its progress, especially when it experienced at least one more legal triumph at the Supreme Court.
And then, maybe about two years later, things started going to hell.
It started when Yorac left. I'm fairly sure it was the corruption she got fed up with, the fact that the Arroyo administration, or elements thereof, at least, were siphoning off the funds and resources it had taken gallons of blood and sweat to win back...for the people. It could also have been the fact that even then, the Arroyo government was already trying to cut deals with the Marcoses in exchange for their support. It doesn't really take a genius to figure out that while Yorac remained committed to doing her job, her bosses in the Palace had a different agenda, which was why she simply up and left.
Enter this new team led by Abcede. There's not much to describe, really. Suffice it to say that he wants to cut a deal with the Marcoses, and let them go absolutely scot-free, his rationale being that the government has already spent too much money chasing after them and their money. Holy shit.
First of all, what happened to the Marcoses' accountability? Their wanton rape of Filipino dignity, not to mention the economy? Pepole who are bitching about what a power-hungry harridan GMA is now have been, as I understand it, drawing a lot of flawed parallels between her and Marcos. She's bad, sure, especially as we can see from what she's trying to pull now, but I don't think we'll ever see anyone as bad as Marcos was. Strike this deal and all is forgiven and forgotten. The cronies and everyone else responsible walks off, free to enjoy their millions and live like kings while the country they butt-fucked to amass their money continues to languish in complete and utter squalor.
Second, even assuming the Marcoses agree to turn over funds to the goverment, they are hardly likely to surrender much more than the tiniest fraction of their amassed fortune. Consider that this amounted to billions back in the eighties, multiplied by all the investments they probably made with them taking inflation and interest into account. Imelda, insane though she may seem, probably wasn't kidding when she said that it amounts to trillions by now. Trillions that belong to the Filipino people who suffered and died under Marcos' tyrannical megalomania. If the Marcoses gave the government one trillion pesos, it doesn't mean a thing if they kept three or four for themselves.
Third, it is utterly asinine to complaint about the PCGG's lack of success over the last several years. Under Yorac's watch, so much was achieved because she and the lawyers under her placed emphasis on competence and integrity, concepts that seem foreign to the Commission for the rest of its existence thereafter, and for much of its existence before. The PCGG lost its cases and arguments because its lawyers were idiots and because the Sandiganbayan justices were crooked or stupid. However, by rectifying the former, they were able to overcome some of the difficulties posed by the latter.
I agree with certain sectors that say it is time to bring an end to the PCGG. Cut off its budget, its lifeline, let it die in the sun like a fish washed up on the shore. Yorac, one of the best things that ever happened to the PCGG, is already in her grave. It would be sad if this continuous display of idiocy put PCGG founder Jovito Salonga in his grave, too.
It was once a nice place to work...but that time is long past. Obviously, it's no longer interested in holding the past dictator and his minions liable for what they've done, so let the task fall into more honest, competent, and determined hands.
And as far as I'm concerned, this should be one of the nails in the coffin of Arroyo's government. For the longest time I have actually been defending the administration against the opposition (whom I still think are scum), but now she's lost at least one, probably more supporters with her blatant, unabashed efforts to cut a deal with those from whose depradations the country has yet to fully recover.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
Obscure but Memorable Comics
A few posts ago I said that Marvel Comics' Civil War #1 made all other comics feel silly and irrelevant. I also said it I was pretty sure it was a passing feeling, and looking through some old comics, I see I was right.
I hardly consider myself a connoisseur of independent/creator-owned comics, but in the last couple of years two titles in particular caught my eye, and I don't regret buying them for a minute, entitled We3 and Chosen. I will review them in the order in which I enjoyed them, being, last one most.
We3, from DC Comics' Vertigo imprint, is the story of three household pets that have been turned into cybernetic killing machines by the U.S. military-industrial complex. When the military brass decides that they are obsolete and gives the directive to have them decommissioned, all hell breaks loose. What transpires over the next three issues is essentially a brutal, protracted chase that culminates in a truly savage fight to the finish.
Written by Justice League of America and X-Men writer Grant Morrison and beautifully illustrated by his X-Men collaborator Frank Quitely, the story is essentially a scathing commentary on animal testing, set in the context of some kick-ass comic book action sequences.
I don't really find Morrison to be the genius that some people say he is, but he really knows how to keep a reader's attention. Following the odyssey of this little family of oddballs is rather engaging, if not a little predictable at some turns. I also love the way he paces the story. I always had a sense of what was going to happen, but I still wanted to see how he would get there. It's not what I'd call groundbreaking, but the presentation definitely feels fresh. This is due in no small part to Quitely's nearly flawless art. Given that the three protagonists are animals who can only engage in the most rudimentary dialogue possible, it falls upon him to convey their character effectively, and he does a magnificent job.
We3 is certainly not without its problems, foremost of which being the plausibility of the science involved. It reads a little bit like Robert O' Brien's The Secret of NIMH, in which a bunch of street rats and mice became super-smart after being injected with foreign DNA, a concept which, as we now know, is scientifically absurd. There is a bit of suspension of disbelief involved here; we the readers are supposed to buy the notion that the U.S. government would try untested technology on three adult animals when they could much more easily breed animals specifically for the job. This story clearly has its origins in the notion "wouldn't it be cool if household pets were made into killing machines" but Morrison never offers a satisfactory explanation for such a conceit, which I think is necessary in a "realistic" comic book, and as a result the story can't quite transcend its decidedly comic-booky premise.
Finally, there's the fact that the creators lean on the "awww" button a little too much, meaning that they try a little too hard to call attention to the tragedy of the lead characters instead of just letting their inherently tragic situation speak for itself.
Flaws notwithstanding, however, We3 was, back when I was completing its three issues, a truly involving read from start to finish. This story, being self-contained and apparently independent of any superhero universe, came without any baggage such as continuity or pre-existing sentimental attachments to any of the characters. One really wonders where the characters are going, or will end up, even though there's some idea of where that will be.
And then there's the art. Hooo boy, it made me sad the day Frank Quitely signed a multi-year exclusive contract with DC Comics that meant he wouldn't be drawing the X-Men or any other Marvel character for a while, but if it means he gets to produce stuff like We3 all the time, then I'm more than happy he made the jump. This guy's attention to detail is fantastic, and his characters are more expressive than those drawn by about 70% of all other mainstream comic book artists, including some of the best. He doesn't quite draw the prettiest girls around, but I'd take his moody and expressive females over Jim Lee's generic lookalike babes any day.
An altogether different pleasure came from buying and reading Dark Horse Comics' Chosen, an acclaimed and slightly controversial comic book miniseries by Civil War scribe Mark Millar and DC/Vertigo Comics mainstay Peter Gross, that purportedly asks one simple question: what if some snot-nosed kid growing up in suburban America suddenly found out that he was the second coming of Jesus Christ? Jodie Christianson, a 12 year-old just like any other, finds this out the hard way when an 18-wheeler of a truck falls on his head and he walks away without a scratch. From that point on it's a series of thrills and chills, with Jodie performing one miracle after another and making converts of just about everyone in the town with the exception of the local parish priest. It's a coming of age story in probably the most literal sense of the word, with a twist at the end which feels kind of spine-tingling in light of current events.
For anyone, and I mean anyone who has experienced puberty, this comic book is an absolute must-read. It's Stand By Me set in the 1980s with a religious/supernatural undercurrent. This story is pure fun, so much fun that it feels like a guilty pleasure sometimes. Like We3, it was a comic I avidly waited for because in this case I only had the vaguest idea of where the story was going, and while in retrospect I should have seen the twist at the end coming, the truth of the matter is that I was enjoying myself too much to play sleuth.
Millar, whose knack for entertaining and believable dialogue is almost unparalleled, is truly in his element here. Though he has openly and repeatedly professed a love for the larger-than-life characters of Superman and Captain America among others, he has shown a real knack for capturing the the small and intimate, as is shown by the way he wrote Peter Parker when he did Spider-Man, as well as his characterization of little Jodie and his friends here. I'll grant that some of the dialogue feels forced, but there are some genuine laugh-out-loud moments here, like the scene where Jodie turns water sitting in a bunch of plastic soda bottles into wine.
As for the art, let me just say that while Peter Gross is the last person on earth I'd want to draw my superhero comic books, he is the only person I'd choose to draw this project. He perfectly captures the naivete of Jodie and the sleepy little town of Peoria, Illinois with such skill that it feels like he was born to draw this book. This not a story that needs ultra-slick linework and rendering from the likes of Steve McNiven or George Perez, but one that needs a touch of innocence and simplicity, which Gross delivers.
The twist ending, which I hope I haven't given away by now, actually comes as something as a relief for some reason, more than the sledgehammer that Millar probably intended. Although I wonder if it wasn't some kind of cop-out from the way he had planned it before, this doesn't diminish the enjoyability of everything that came before it. I understand he has a sequel in the works to be entitled American Jesus. I know I'll be there for that.
We3 and Chosen are available as collected editions, and I'm pretty sure, for the more economically-minded, they're available online by now, having come out in 2004 and 2003, respectively. Whether one reads them off his laptop or a book in his lap, both these miniseries are solid arguments for respecting comic books as a legitimate mainstream art form.
I hardly consider myself a connoisseur of independent/creator-owned comics, but in the last couple of years two titles in particular caught my eye, and I don't regret buying them for a minute, entitled We3 and Chosen. I will review them in the order in which I enjoyed them, being, last one most.
We3, from DC Comics' Vertigo imprint, is the story of three household pets that have been turned into cybernetic killing machines by the U.S. military-industrial complex. When the military brass decides that they are obsolete and gives the directive to have them decommissioned, all hell breaks loose. What transpires over the next three issues is essentially a brutal, protracted chase that culminates in a truly savage fight to the finish.
Written by Justice League of America and X-Men writer Grant Morrison and beautifully illustrated by his X-Men collaborator Frank Quitely, the story is essentially a scathing commentary on animal testing, set in the context of some kick-ass comic book action sequences.
I don't really find Morrison to be the genius that some people say he is, but he really knows how to keep a reader's attention. Following the odyssey of this little family of oddballs is rather engaging, if not a little predictable at some turns. I also love the way he paces the story. I always had a sense of what was going to happen, but I still wanted to see how he would get there. It's not what I'd call groundbreaking, but the presentation definitely feels fresh. This is due in no small part to Quitely's nearly flawless art. Given that the three protagonists are animals who can only engage in the most rudimentary dialogue possible, it falls upon him to convey their character effectively, and he does a magnificent job.
We3 is certainly not without its problems, foremost of which being the plausibility of the science involved. It reads a little bit like Robert O' Brien's The Secret of NIMH, in which a bunch of street rats and mice became super-smart after being injected with foreign DNA, a concept which, as we now know, is scientifically absurd. There is a bit of suspension of disbelief involved here; we the readers are supposed to buy the notion that the U.S. government would try untested technology on three adult animals when they could much more easily breed animals specifically for the job. This story clearly has its origins in the notion "wouldn't it be cool if household pets were made into killing machines" but Morrison never offers a satisfactory explanation for such a conceit, which I think is necessary in a "realistic" comic book, and as a result the story can't quite transcend its decidedly comic-booky premise.
Finally, there's the fact that the creators lean on the "awww" button a little too much, meaning that they try a little too hard to call attention to the tragedy of the lead characters instead of just letting their inherently tragic situation speak for itself.
Flaws notwithstanding, however, We3 was, back when I was completing its three issues, a truly involving read from start to finish. This story, being self-contained and apparently independent of any superhero universe, came without any baggage such as continuity or pre-existing sentimental attachments to any of the characters. One really wonders where the characters are going, or will end up, even though there's some idea of where that will be.
And then there's the art. Hooo boy, it made me sad the day Frank Quitely signed a multi-year exclusive contract with DC Comics that meant he wouldn't be drawing the X-Men or any other Marvel character for a while, but if it means he gets to produce stuff like We3 all the time, then I'm more than happy he made the jump. This guy's attention to detail is fantastic, and his characters are more expressive than those drawn by about 70% of all other mainstream comic book artists, including some of the best. He doesn't quite draw the prettiest girls around, but I'd take his moody and expressive females over Jim Lee's generic lookalike babes any day.
An altogether different pleasure came from buying and reading Dark Horse Comics' Chosen, an acclaimed and slightly controversial comic book miniseries by Civil War scribe Mark Millar and DC/Vertigo Comics mainstay Peter Gross, that purportedly asks one simple question: what if some snot-nosed kid growing up in suburban America suddenly found out that he was the second coming of Jesus Christ? Jodie Christianson, a 12 year-old just like any other, finds this out the hard way when an 18-wheeler of a truck falls on his head and he walks away without a scratch. From that point on it's a series of thrills and chills, with Jodie performing one miracle after another and making converts of just about everyone in the town with the exception of the local parish priest. It's a coming of age story in probably the most literal sense of the word, with a twist at the end which feels kind of spine-tingling in light of current events.
For anyone, and I mean anyone who has experienced puberty, this comic book is an absolute must-read. It's Stand By Me set in the 1980s with a religious/supernatural undercurrent. This story is pure fun, so much fun that it feels like a guilty pleasure sometimes. Like We3, it was a comic I avidly waited for because in this case I only had the vaguest idea of where the story was going, and while in retrospect I should have seen the twist at the end coming, the truth of the matter is that I was enjoying myself too much to play sleuth.
Millar, whose knack for entertaining and believable dialogue is almost unparalleled, is truly in his element here. Though he has openly and repeatedly professed a love for the larger-than-life characters of Superman and Captain America among others, he has shown a real knack for capturing the the small and intimate, as is shown by the way he wrote Peter Parker when he did Spider-Man, as well as his characterization of little Jodie and his friends here. I'll grant that some of the dialogue feels forced, but there are some genuine laugh-out-loud moments here, like the scene where Jodie turns water sitting in a bunch of plastic soda bottles into wine.
As for the art, let me just say that while Peter Gross is the last person on earth I'd want to draw my superhero comic books, he is the only person I'd choose to draw this project. He perfectly captures the naivete of Jodie and the sleepy little town of Peoria, Illinois with such skill that it feels like he was born to draw this book. This not a story that needs ultra-slick linework and rendering from the likes of Steve McNiven or George Perez, but one that needs a touch of innocence and simplicity, which Gross delivers.
The twist ending, which I hope I haven't given away by now, actually comes as something as a relief for some reason, more than the sledgehammer that Millar probably intended. Although I wonder if it wasn't some kind of cop-out from the way he had planned it before, this doesn't diminish the enjoyability of everything that came before it. I understand he has a sequel in the works to be entitled American Jesus. I know I'll be there for that.
We3 and Chosen are available as collected editions, and I'm pretty sure, for the more economically-minded, they're available online by now, having come out in 2004 and 2003, respectively. Whether one reads them off his laptop or a book in his lap, both these miniseries are solid arguments for respecting comic books as a legitimate mainstream art form.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
An Open Invitation
Here's a bit of cynicism for you: when a hapless commuter gets her cellphone snatched from her by some lowlife, the natural tendency of many people is, instead of sympathizing with her, to shake their heads and cluck "nag-ce-cellphone kasi sa jeep, eh." The trangression is less that of the thief who has clearly taken what doesn't belong to him and more that of the victim who left herself a little bit more open to the commission of the crime. It is downright wrong to think like this, of course; people shouldn't have to be afraid to use their cellphones, their own property, in public. It is not a crime to use one's cellphone wherever he or she wants, and at the end of the day the criminals are still the ones who run off with the phone. They aren't forces of nature; just pieces of crap. People shouldn't have to worry about these thugs swiping their things.
The reality, however, is sadly far, far removed from the ideal. In a land beset by poverty and erosion of basic human values, it's almost a given that crimes will occur under certain circumstances. It becomes a responsibility to safeguard one's self from such contingencies by taking certain measures, or by refraining from certain conduct.
Having said this, it strikes me that the girl who was allegedly raped by four United States Marines acted rather imprudently, to say the least. To say the worst, one could say that she could not have asked for it more if she had painted a bull's eye on her vagina.
This is not a discussion on whether or not the rape took place; that is for the trial court to determine, although frankly, I'm fairly sure they did it, especially considering they've already gone for the consensual sex defense, which places them in an uphill battle from this point onwards, considering the eyewitness accounts that had them dumping her in the side of the road in her underwear. Whether or not they did was entirely beside the point.
The point is that this girl opened herself to this kind of situation the way people who use their cellphones on a jeep in Tondo open themselves to snatchers. I wouldn't even be talking about this if I didn't think that there seems to be a disturbing trend among young people to throw caution to the wind when it comes to their night life.
I hardly consider myself a prude; I'm not about to protest anyone wearing short skirts or tube tops or any of that stuff, but I do think that people should know how to take care of themselves. I am a thirtysomething male, but there are still places that I wouldn't necessarily go alone, given the option.
I've actually seen a young, attractive girl go to a bar, get drunk out of her gourd, and proceed to cavort with a guy who, from all appearances, she had only just met at the bar. I've read about a rather asinine practice among young people known as "speed dating" where the object is to go out with as many people in a day/evening as possible, on the rationale that "if you don't get a boyfriend, at least you make 20 new friends." I guess that's possible, assuming they don't think the girl is a player, or, to use more vulgar language, a slut.
Dating rituals are not only charmingly quaint appurtenances to one's love/sex life; they serve as important filters or screening processes by which both men and women, boys and girls are able to determine if the people they're going out with are suitable for them. By not offering one's body to someone she's just met, a girl has a chance to unearth a lot of potentially material information about him, which is obviously an impossibility if she drops her panties because she likes his mojo, or because she's too drunk to care.
By all accounts, the Olongapo rape victim was supposed to be intelligent and well-educated, so one wonders what in God's name she was doing in a bar trying to pick up Americans in the first place. That's her business, really, but that doesn't mean she couldn't have been more careful in the company she chose. Judging by decades of Philippine-American relations, it's pretty easy to surmise what American servicemen hanging out at bars in Olongapo are looking for, so unless she spent her whole life living under a rock before heading out to that bar this girl had every reason to be on her guard.
The rape itself was heinous. The men involved undoubtedly deserve the maximum penalty if they did it, and I truly hope they get exactly what is coming to them. But one cannot deny that the girl they ravished had no reason to believe they had anything but the basest of intentions. She took the least possible amount of caution going into what was already a potentially dangerous situation, with disastrous results. This does not mean that she was not raped, just a cellphone snatched from someone using it in a jeep is still a stolen item no matter how careless its owner was. But there is an important lesson to be learned here about how cautious poeple should be, especially how today's increasingly hedonistic crowd seems to be pushing the boundaries of acceptable risks.
As someone whose daughter will one day be as old as that girl, I hope I am able to impress this upon her one day.
The reality, however, is sadly far, far removed from the ideal. In a land beset by poverty and erosion of basic human values, it's almost a given that crimes will occur under certain circumstances. It becomes a responsibility to safeguard one's self from such contingencies by taking certain measures, or by refraining from certain conduct.
Having said this, it strikes me that the girl who was allegedly raped by four United States Marines acted rather imprudently, to say the least. To say the worst, one could say that she could not have asked for it more if she had painted a bull's eye on her vagina.
This is not a discussion on whether or not the rape took place; that is for the trial court to determine, although frankly, I'm fairly sure they did it, especially considering they've already gone for the consensual sex defense, which places them in an uphill battle from this point onwards, considering the eyewitness accounts that had them dumping her in the side of the road in her underwear. Whether or not they did was entirely beside the point.
The point is that this girl opened herself to this kind of situation the way people who use their cellphones on a jeep in Tondo open themselves to snatchers. I wouldn't even be talking about this if I didn't think that there seems to be a disturbing trend among young people to throw caution to the wind when it comes to their night life.
I hardly consider myself a prude; I'm not about to protest anyone wearing short skirts or tube tops or any of that stuff, but I do think that people should know how to take care of themselves. I am a thirtysomething male, but there are still places that I wouldn't necessarily go alone, given the option.
I've actually seen a young, attractive girl go to a bar, get drunk out of her gourd, and proceed to cavort with a guy who, from all appearances, she had only just met at the bar. I've read about a rather asinine practice among young people known as "speed dating" where the object is to go out with as many people in a day/evening as possible, on the rationale that "if you don't get a boyfriend, at least you make 20 new friends." I guess that's possible, assuming they don't think the girl is a player, or, to use more vulgar language, a slut.
Dating rituals are not only charmingly quaint appurtenances to one's love/sex life; they serve as important filters or screening processes by which both men and women, boys and girls are able to determine if the people they're going out with are suitable for them. By not offering one's body to someone she's just met, a girl has a chance to unearth a lot of potentially material information about him, which is obviously an impossibility if she drops her panties because she likes his mojo, or because she's too drunk to care.
By all accounts, the Olongapo rape victim was supposed to be intelligent and well-educated, so one wonders what in God's name she was doing in a bar trying to pick up Americans in the first place. That's her business, really, but that doesn't mean she couldn't have been more careful in the company she chose. Judging by decades of Philippine-American relations, it's pretty easy to surmise what American servicemen hanging out at bars in Olongapo are looking for, so unless she spent her whole life living under a rock before heading out to that bar this girl had every reason to be on her guard.
The rape itself was heinous. The men involved undoubtedly deserve the maximum penalty if they did it, and I truly hope they get exactly what is coming to them. But one cannot deny that the girl they ravished had no reason to believe they had anything but the basest of intentions. She took the least possible amount of caution going into what was already a potentially dangerous situation, with disastrous results. This does not mean that she was not raped, just a cellphone snatched from someone using it in a jeep is still a stolen item no matter how careless its owner was. But there is an important lesson to be learned here about how cautious poeple should be, especially how today's increasingly hedonistic crowd seems to be pushing the boundaries of acceptable risks.
As someone whose daughter will one day be as old as that girl, I hope I am able to impress this upon her one day.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Moving On
Today was my last day as an employee of the Supreme Court of the Philippines. I worked there, to the day, for seventeen months, a personal record. I had originally planned to stay until Chief Justice Panganiban's retirement in December, but when the newest wave of bar passers was announced I spotted an opportunity to grab work at a law firm, and so I decided to fast track my plans a little bit. The plan was to hand my resume out, without a word to anyone at work, and if it didn't work out, I could always just return to the status quo. If it did, then I'd be out of there in the statutory 30 days. The latter just so happened to come true.
I couldn't have picked a better time to leave the Court; I'm leaving on a high, at a time when the institution's credibility has been restored by three successive decisions upholding the primacy of civil liberties and clipping the wings of an administration that seems to aspire towards authoritarianism or some permutation thereof. I'm leaving without intrigues in my wake, without bad blood between me and anyone in the office, and ultimately, without any regrets. In other words, I'm quitting while I'm ahead, and it feels great.
There's something really special about having done a "tour of duty" over there on Padre Faura, and it's more than just researching and assisting in the preparation of decisions. It's more than going to work every day knowing that the hopes of many of the country's lawyers and their clients hinges on how we decide their cases. It's about being part of history as it is made. This came home with dramatic effect on my penultimate week, which I spent in Baguio, when they released the decision regarding Presidential Proclamation No. 1017, which bore an eerie resemblance to Presidential Decree No. 1081, which declared Martial Law, over 34 years ago.
It doesn't matter that I had nothing to do with preparing momentous decisions like the three successive ones that came out of Baguio this past month. It's enough for me that I was there and that I was working in the same office. It's not about the ability to take credit for anything, it's about knowing one was there to witness something special. I now have the vaguest idea of how people felt when they watched the Berlin Wall come down. Well, maybe not, but the point is I know now how special it feels to be in the right place at the right time.
That time has now passed, and it feels only right to move on along with it, but it's been one HECK of a ride.
Onward and upward to new challenges and milestones!
I couldn't have picked a better time to leave the Court; I'm leaving on a high, at a time when the institution's credibility has been restored by three successive decisions upholding the primacy of civil liberties and clipping the wings of an administration that seems to aspire towards authoritarianism or some permutation thereof. I'm leaving without intrigues in my wake, without bad blood between me and anyone in the office, and ultimately, without any regrets. In other words, I'm quitting while I'm ahead, and it feels great.
There's something really special about having done a "tour of duty" over there on Padre Faura, and it's more than just researching and assisting in the preparation of decisions. It's more than going to work every day knowing that the hopes of many of the country's lawyers and their clients hinges on how we decide their cases. It's about being part of history as it is made. This came home with dramatic effect on my penultimate week, which I spent in Baguio, when they released the decision regarding Presidential Proclamation No. 1017, which bore an eerie resemblance to Presidential Decree No. 1081, which declared Martial Law, over 34 years ago.
It doesn't matter that I had nothing to do with preparing momentous decisions like the three successive ones that came out of Baguio this past month. It's enough for me that I was there and that I was working in the same office. It's not about the ability to take credit for anything, it's about knowing one was there to witness something special. I now have the vaguest idea of how people felt when they watched the Berlin Wall come down. Well, maybe not, but the point is I know now how special it feels to be in the right place at the right time.
That time has now passed, and it feels only right to move on along with it, but it's been one HECK of a ride.
Onward and upward to new challenges and milestones!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
A Comic Book That Truly Speaks
Recently I've made film reviewing a regular staple of this blog, eschewing every thing else such my political opinions, personal experiences, and even my quips on comic books. Lately, however, I haven't seen any movie that has truly tickled my fancy, and the last movie I saw, Mission Impossible III, is not even worth taking the time out to pan. I will say, however, that in view of the damage his public persona seems to have inflicted on the grosses of his vanity projects, Tom Cruise should stick to making good movies from now on.
This post marks a return to my comics commentary for what I feel is a very special reason: Marvel Comics' Civil War #1.
Here in the Philippines and in the United States, the topic of civil liberties has, of late, been a rather sensitive issue. Here, it's been a question of how far the President can go to quell civil liberties in order to defend her tenuous grip on power, and there it's been a question of what the United States government won't sacrifice in their hunt for the terrorists who are allegedly threatening the American way of life.
The beauty of Marvel Comics characters, perhaps more than any other, is best appreciated when they are written as metaphors for the human condition. Spider-Man symbolizes the uncertainty and frustration of youth, the Fantastic Four stand for the love/hate relationship shared by most families, Iron Man represents humanity's growing dependence on technology, and so on and so forth. Ultimates writer Mark Millar plays this card to spectacuar effect in this miniseries.
The first issue in a nutshell:The New Warriors, a D-list group of superheroes, are the stars of a reality show that has them traveling across America in search of scumbags to beat up. In a suburban Connecticut town, they happen up four major supervillians who've only recently broken out of prison and are lying low, one of whom happens to be Nitro, who has the power to generate powerful explosions. They ambush the villains, and Nitro blows up, killing the Warriors and several hundred residents of the town. The bereaved residents of the town demand a response from the U.S. government, and that response is the Superhuman Registration Act, a piece of legislation designed to make superheroes publicly accountable for their actions by turning them into federal employees. Superheroes are uneasy over its implications, as exemplified by an attempt by SHIELD, a government super-spy agency, to subdue Captain America, which ends in the latter's escape.
When the hype for this book came out, the tendency of fans and naysayers alike was to act dismissive towards the title. For my part, my main hook was that Steve McNiven would be drawing this book (and he doesn't disappoint, either). When I read this book, however, I confess that all my fears turned out to be unjustified.
The commentary on sacrificing civil liberties "so that people will feel safe again" WORKS. It is intelligently written, although the treatment of the two different sides of the issue is not as even-handed as Marvel would have liked us to believe before. Still, the presentation is entirely credible, even if a little flawed, and the comic book, as a whole, works as both a superhero book AND political commentary, although admittedly not terribly in-depth.
I love the way Millar and McNiven painted in shocking detail the tragedy of Stamford, Connecticut, and then right away, posed the question "do you crack down on every super hero just because of one errant group?" It's been years since the Marvel metaphor has been used to such devastating effect. "Because there could be terrorists among us, do you remove our right to privacy?"
The masks and secret identities in this story stand in for people's private lives, their e-mail, their secret thoughts and opinions. The rage of the people whose loved ones died in the explosion mirrors that of the families of the 9/11 victims. Not even when they put Spider-Man right in the heart of the 9/11 tragedy did Marvel put its finger so squarely on the pulse of a nation at war with itself.
As ridiculous as this sounds, reading this comic book has made every other comic book on the market, including some that I am buying and enjoying, seem absolutely inane, and devoid of any relevance to humanity whatsoever, with the possible exception of Millar's Ultimates. This is probably just a passing feeling, but it was surprising nonetheless, considering I've never felt this way about a comic book before.
I know comic books do not have the mainstream acceptance they once had and that not a whole not of people invest time and money in them other than the select cache of geeks known as fanboys, but for the first time I find myself saying to anyone who reads this: I highly recommend this book. It's something quite different from anything that's ever come before it.
This post marks a return to my comics commentary for what I feel is a very special reason: Marvel Comics' Civil War #1.
Here in the Philippines and in the United States, the topic of civil liberties has, of late, been a rather sensitive issue. Here, it's been a question of how far the President can go to quell civil liberties in order to defend her tenuous grip on power, and there it's been a question of what the United States government won't sacrifice in their hunt for the terrorists who are allegedly threatening the American way of life.
The beauty of Marvel Comics characters, perhaps more than any other, is best appreciated when they are written as metaphors for the human condition. Spider-Man symbolizes the uncertainty and frustration of youth, the Fantastic Four stand for the love/hate relationship shared by most families, Iron Man represents humanity's growing dependence on technology, and so on and so forth. Ultimates writer Mark Millar plays this card to spectacuar effect in this miniseries.
The first issue in a nutshell:The New Warriors, a D-list group of superheroes, are the stars of a reality show that has them traveling across America in search of scumbags to beat up. In a suburban Connecticut town, they happen up four major supervillians who've only recently broken out of prison and are lying low, one of whom happens to be Nitro, who has the power to generate powerful explosions. They ambush the villains, and Nitro blows up, killing the Warriors and several hundred residents of the town. The bereaved residents of the town demand a response from the U.S. government, and that response is the Superhuman Registration Act, a piece of legislation designed to make superheroes publicly accountable for their actions by turning them into federal employees. Superheroes are uneasy over its implications, as exemplified by an attempt by SHIELD, a government super-spy agency, to subdue Captain America, which ends in the latter's escape.
When the hype for this book came out, the tendency of fans and naysayers alike was to act dismissive towards the title. For my part, my main hook was that Steve McNiven would be drawing this book (and he doesn't disappoint, either). When I read this book, however, I confess that all my fears turned out to be unjustified.
The commentary on sacrificing civil liberties "so that people will feel safe again" WORKS. It is intelligently written, although the treatment of the two different sides of the issue is not as even-handed as Marvel would have liked us to believe before. Still, the presentation is entirely credible, even if a little flawed, and the comic book, as a whole, works as both a superhero book AND political commentary, although admittedly not terribly in-depth.
I love the way Millar and McNiven painted in shocking detail the tragedy of Stamford, Connecticut, and then right away, posed the question "do you crack down on every super hero just because of one errant group?" It's been years since the Marvel metaphor has been used to such devastating effect. "Because there could be terrorists among us, do you remove our right to privacy?"
The masks and secret identities in this story stand in for people's private lives, their e-mail, their secret thoughts and opinions. The rage of the people whose loved ones died in the explosion mirrors that of the families of the 9/11 victims. Not even when they put Spider-Man right in the heart of the 9/11 tragedy did Marvel put its finger so squarely on the pulse of a nation at war with itself.
As ridiculous as this sounds, reading this comic book has made every other comic book on the market, including some that I am buying and enjoying, seem absolutely inane, and devoid of any relevance to humanity whatsoever, with the possible exception of Millar's Ultimates. This is probably just a passing feeling, but it was surprising nonetheless, considering I've never felt this way about a comic book before.
I know comic books do not have the mainstream acceptance they once had and that not a whole not of people invest time and money in them other than the select cache of geeks known as fanboys, but for the first time I find myself saying to anyone who reads this: I highly recommend this book. It's something quite different from anything that's ever come before it.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Predictably Stupid
I haven't read The Da Vinci Code. I may or may not watch its film adaptation when it comes out in a few weeks. For reasons I cannot entirely explain, I am not all that keen on catching it in theaters. In fact, my interest in watching it is minimal, Tom Hanks and Ron Howard notwithstanding.
That said, I find myself gagging over the idiots who are calling for the movie to be banned from exhibition in the Philippines. Apparently, people in this country are getting stupider by the day.
The rest of the world is shaking its head at the narrowmindedness of several members of the Islamic community that has reacted quite violently to the publication of several Danish cartoons defamatory of the prophet Muhammad. A lot of Christians like to think that they are above such tantrums, simply because they aren't protesting in the streets or burning flags. I'd like to think that's true as well, but the gaggle of fools, including priests, no less demanding that the MTRCB bar The Da Vinci Code from exhibition even before they've previewed it make me think twice about having such confidence.
For all of these people I have four words, one of which is actually a contraction: IT'S. JUST. A. MOVIE.
By calling for the suppression of this work of FICTION, these people who fancy themselves defenders of the faith will effectively be doing Christianity, as well as the faithful, a huge disservice. It's tantamount to their saying that this supposed affront to the Christian faith (and all its various denominations) should not be shown, lest it pollute the minds of those that watch it. It's the same argument against pornography, basically.
The problem is that when the subject matter of a film is religion, specifically an "alternative viewpoint," to suppress a film creates the distinct impression that one is afraid of it and its effects. Do these people really think so little of the Catholic faithful that they are certain they can be swayed by a mere movie? One adapted by a hack like Akiva Goldsman?
I'm just glad a lot of very responsible Christian leaders, including members of the Opus Dei, who take the biggest hits from the movie, are calling for sobriety and saying that if the movie should spark anything, it should be discussion and not attempts towards suppression.
Still, it really, really doesn't speak well of all the idiots in this country and in the others that have yelled and screamed for the suppression of this film. They seem to learn nothing from history and its lessons on suppressing the freedom of expression.
Let the movie and its controversy ride its course, I say. Intelligent, informed discussion is more likely to kill all the so-called issues raised in this movie more effectively than strident calls to have it banned. Come on, people, let's show the world that Christians deal with challenges to their faith intelligently.
That said, I find myself gagging over the idiots who are calling for the movie to be banned from exhibition in the Philippines. Apparently, people in this country are getting stupider by the day.
The rest of the world is shaking its head at the narrowmindedness of several members of the Islamic community that has reacted quite violently to the publication of several Danish cartoons defamatory of the prophet Muhammad. A lot of Christians like to think that they are above such tantrums, simply because they aren't protesting in the streets or burning flags. I'd like to think that's true as well, but the gaggle of fools, including priests, no less demanding that the MTRCB bar The Da Vinci Code from exhibition even before they've previewed it make me think twice about having such confidence.
For all of these people I have four words, one of which is actually a contraction: IT'S. JUST. A. MOVIE.
By calling for the suppression of this work of FICTION, these people who fancy themselves defenders of the faith will effectively be doing Christianity, as well as the faithful, a huge disservice. It's tantamount to their saying that this supposed affront to the Christian faith (and all its various denominations) should not be shown, lest it pollute the minds of those that watch it. It's the same argument against pornography, basically.
The problem is that when the subject matter of a film is religion, specifically an "alternative viewpoint," to suppress a film creates the distinct impression that one is afraid of it and its effects. Do these people really think so little of the Catholic faithful that they are certain they can be swayed by a mere movie? One adapted by a hack like Akiva Goldsman?
I'm just glad a lot of very responsible Christian leaders, including members of the Opus Dei, who take the biggest hits from the movie, are calling for sobriety and saying that if the movie should spark anything, it should be discussion and not attempts towards suppression.
Still, it really, really doesn't speak well of all the idiots in this country and in the others that have yelled and screamed for the suppression of this film. They seem to learn nothing from history and its lessons on suppressing the freedom of expression.
Let the movie and its controversy ride its course, I say. Intelligent, informed discussion is more likely to kill all the so-called issues raised in this movie more effectively than strident calls to have it banned. Come on, people, let's show the world that Christians deal with challenges to their faith intelligently.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Dated Movies (not Date Movies)
There is something truly comical about watching movies that are supposed to be set in particular times and places far removed from the years in which they were actually made and spotting various cultural landmarks which inevitably tie them to such years. This happened a lot in Hollywood's earlier days, obviously, right up until late last century, but this was largely due to issues of technology. These days, such movies still pop up on the grid periodically, but this comes down to just bad storytelling. Of course, contemporary films don't really count, seeing as how the filmmaker has no choice but to adopt conventions of the time to tell a believable story.
There are some movies that absolutely scream "I was made in 1985!" even though they may actually be set in the 1930s. As odd a choice as it may seem "Star Wars, Episode IV" or the very first Star Wars movie is actually a pretty good example of a movie that feels dated. Issues of technology aside, the film is permanently marked by its actors' shaggy hairdos and Mark Hammill's "gee-whiz" line delivery. The funny part is that no matter how many times Lucas intercalates new digital features every few years the movie still feels stuck in the seventies, and everything else just feels like add-ons. James Cameron's Titanic is similarly quagmired due to Leonardo DiCaprio's unmistakably 90s long-bangs haircut, as well as some really bad dialogue.
Another thing that tends to date movies which would otherwise seem ageless is the music with which the film is scored. Titanic tops the list of such films with all of the synthesized undertones and Enya-like, new-age vocalizing with which composer James Horner saturated his music. The Passion of the Christ, for all of Mel Gibson's directorial prowess, may one day feel dated because of John Debney's use of some fairly contemporary instruments as accompaniment to the traditional orchestra and choir. For the record, I like and own both soundtracks, but they just don't strike me as timeless.
Probably the most glaring example of a movie that will, in a couple of years, sound really anachronistic is the first installment of The Chronicles of Narnia. Howard Shore achieved timelessness (at least to my mind) with his sweeping orchestra and majestic choral and solo vocalists when he did the Lord of the Rings films, so I don't really understand why Narnia composer Harry Gregson-Williams felt he had to go contemporary and take the viewer out of the story, which, when it wasn't set in Narnia was set in 1940s England. (Of course, it's not like the film didn't have other problems).
It's silly to suppose that anyone can make a truly timeless piece. Some people have come fairly close over the last few years, like Spielberg with Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan and Peter Jackson with the aforementioned Rings films, but the thing about such cultural markers is that they tend to spoil a viewing experience and, as I said earlier, take a reader out of a story. There are a number of films that, while not necessarily timeless, don't really feel dated, and maybe I'll make a list of them next time.
There are some movies that absolutely scream "I was made in 1985!" even though they may actually be set in the 1930s. As odd a choice as it may seem "Star Wars, Episode IV" or the very first Star Wars movie is actually a pretty good example of a movie that feels dated. Issues of technology aside, the film is permanently marked by its actors' shaggy hairdos and Mark Hammill's "gee-whiz" line delivery. The funny part is that no matter how many times Lucas intercalates new digital features every few years the movie still feels stuck in the seventies, and everything else just feels like add-ons. James Cameron's Titanic is similarly quagmired due to Leonardo DiCaprio's unmistakably 90s long-bangs haircut, as well as some really bad dialogue.
Another thing that tends to date movies which would otherwise seem ageless is the music with which the film is scored. Titanic tops the list of such films with all of the synthesized undertones and Enya-like, new-age vocalizing with which composer James Horner saturated his music. The Passion of the Christ, for all of Mel Gibson's directorial prowess, may one day feel dated because of John Debney's use of some fairly contemporary instruments as accompaniment to the traditional orchestra and choir. For the record, I like and own both soundtracks, but they just don't strike me as timeless.
Probably the most glaring example of a movie that will, in a couple of years, sound really anachronistic is the first installment of The Chronicles of Narnia. Howard Shore achieved timelessness (at least to my mind) with his sweeping orchestra and majestic choral and solo vocalists when he did the Lord of the Rings films, so I don't really understand why Narnia composer Harry Gregson-Williams felt he had to go contemporary and take the viewer out of the story, which, when it wasn't set in Narnia was set in 1940s England. (Of course, it's not like the film didn't have other problems).
It's silly to suppose that anyone can make a truly timeless piece. Some people have come fairly close over the last few years, like Spielberg with Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan and Peter Jackson with the aforementioned Rings films, but the thing about such cultural markers is that they tend to spoil a viewing experience and, as I said earlier, take a reader out of a story. There are a number of films that, while not necessarily timeless, don't really feel dated, and maybe I'll make a list of them next time.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Whatever Happened to GMA Films
I am not a regular patron of Filipino films. I do not say this with either pride or shame, but only as a statement of fact. I would like to think, however, that the few films I have seen (at least dating back to late adolescence onward) are of a reasonable level of quality.
Back in the late 90s to the year 2000, there was one studio that produced movies which I religiously followed, three years in a row: GMA Films. I unfortunately missed the acclaimed Sa Pusod ng Dagat, but I caught Marilou Diaz-Abaya's next two movies, Jose Rizal and Muro Ami almost as soon as they came out. The next year, I watched Joel Lamangan's Death Row. While neither Lamangan's direction nor his visual sense was anywhere near as refined as Diaz-Abaya's, the commitment to quality storytelling was still there, albeit diminished.
And then...nothing. In 2001, Diaz-Abaya moved to rival Star Cinema, where she made Bagong Buwan for them (a film I have unfortunately yet to see) and Noon at Ngayon (a film which, I unfortunately, did see). Not only did GMA Films lose their star player, but apparently they also left the game altogether.
A few years later, GMA Films broke their silence with...teeny-bopper love stories? Starring Richard Gutierrez, a guy who only has about two facial expressions in his entire acting repertoire, the pout and the smile? What the hell is going on here?
All right, I understand that the Filipino movie industry is in somewhat dire straits right now. I understand filmmakers are adopting a number of strategies to keep it afloat, ranging from adopting digital technology to save on shooting costs to sticking to relatively safe storytelling formulas, such as casting young and popular stars in romantic films.
To this argument, I have this to say in response: people responded to those early offerings of GMA films, particularly, the movies of Diaz-Abaya. Rizal reportedly grossed over a hundred million pesos back in 1998, which was quite a feat for a local film. Granted, a lot of that came from students who were required by their high school and grade school teachers to watch the film, but I for one watched it without need of any such compulsion, and I'm certain a lot of other people did as well. As if to prove a point, the following year's Muro-Ami, while not quite the moneymaker, reportedly raked in about seventy-four percent of Rizal's box-office take. These films somehow tapped into the public's need for quality Philippine cinema, and didn't even need the backing of Imelda Marcos (like many of the experimental flicks in the 1980s). Why they vanished like thieves in the night, instead of inspiring a whole new wave of great Filipino movies, I really cannot imagine.
Lately, the film outfit Unitel seems to be following GMA Films' lead by producing films that go against the grain, but have not had any breakout success thus far. It's truly frustrating.
I challenge GMA: rediscover that vibe, that commitment to greatness that made you the undisputed cinematic kings of 1998 and 1999. Filipino moviegoers everywhere deserve it.
Back in the late 90s to the year 2000, there was one studio that produced movies which I religiously followed, three years in a row: GMA Films. I unfortunately missed the acclaimed Sa Pusod ng Dagat, but I caught Marilou Diaz-Abaya's next two movies, Jose Rizal and Muro Ami almost as soon as they came out. The next year, I watched Joel Lamangan's Death Row. While neither Lamangan's direction nor his visual sense was anywhere near as refined as Diaz-Abaya's, the commitment to quality storytelling was still there, albeit diminished.
And then...nothing. In 2001, Diaz-Abaya moved to rival Star Cinema, where she made Bagong Buwan for them (a film I have unfortunately yet to see) and Noon at Ngayon (a film which, I unfortunately, did see). Not only did GMA Films lose their star player, but apparently they also left the game altogether.
A few years later, GMA Films broke their silence with...teeny-bopper love stories? Starring Richard Gutierrez, a guy who only has about two facial expressions in his entire acting repertoire, the pout and the smile? What the hell is going on here?
All right, I understand that the Filipino movie industry is in somewhat dire straits right now. I understand filmmakers are adopting a number of strategies to keep it afloat, ranging from adopting digital technology to save on shooting costs to sticking to relatively safe storytelling formulas, such as casting young and popular stars in romantic films.
To this argument, I have this to say in response: people responded to those early offerings of GMA films, particularly, the movies of Diaz-Abaya. Rizal reportedly grossed over a hundred million pesos back in 1998, which was quite a feat for a local film. Granted, a lot of that came from students who were required by their high school and grade school teachers to watch the film, but I for one watched it without need of any such compulsion, and I'm certain a lot of other people did as well. As if to prove a point, the following year's Muro-Ami, while not quite the moneymaker, reportedly raked in about seventy-four percent of Rizal's box-office take. These films somehow tapped into the public's need for quality Philippine cinema, and didn't even need the backing of Imelda Marcos (like many of the experimental flicks in the 1980s). Why they vanished like thieves in the night, instead of inspiring a whole new wave of great Filipino movies, I really cannot imagine.
Lately, the film outfit Unitel seems to be following GMA Films' lead by producing films that go against the grain, but have not had any breakout success thus far. It's truly frustrating.
I challenge GMA: rediscover that vibe, that commitment to greatness that made you the undisputed cinematic kings of 1998 and 1999. Filipino moviegoers everywhere deserve it.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
CG Cartoon Glut
Last week, I watched Ice Age 2 with my son and my half-brother. I definitely felt that the movie suffered from "sequelitis," which is the natural tendency of a sequel to be less of a movie than the original. Still, I liked it. Ninety minutes later, however, I left the movie theater feeling a little perturbed, and not because of the movie I had just watched.
Before the movie even began, I saw, or should I say, was subjected to trailers for FIVE computer-generated imagery (CGI) cartoons. In no particular order, they were Cars, The Wild, Happy Feet, The Ant Bully and Open Season. I'm just glad I was spared having to watch the trailer for Over the Hedge, Dreamworks' Animation's latest offering, for the nth time.
Competition is usually a good thing, especially in a creative environment, where lack of any real rivals tends to result in stagnation.
Walt Disney's animation studio was a good example. Back when Disney had a monopoly on quality animated feature-length films (in the days of the hand-drawn cartoon), the company churned out several decades' worth of classics, up until the dawn of the new millenium, when they seemed to lose their touch, around which time their partner Pixar started producing the next wave of animated classics under the Mickey Mouse banner. Disney's last hand-drawn hit, 2002's Lilo and Stitch, played a lot more like an extended Saturday morning cartoon than gems like Aladdin or even Tarzan.
In the days of the hand-drawn cartoon, particularly its renaissance in the 90s, a lot of studios tried to ape the success of Beauty and the Beast by churning out cheaper, shoddier cartoons like Ferngully, The Magic Sword, and similar excrement. The good news is that these turkeys faded quickly into the night, and were few and far between. The bad news is that Disney, with no real competition in sight, ended up producing crappy movies.
But with the dawn of Pixar, it seemed that the decline of Disney's hand-drawn fortunes didn't matter as they seemed to have a new way to monopolize the success of the cartoon feature: make CGI movies!
Sadly for them, this didn't happen as more than one studio was able to offer some pretty stiff competition. In 2001, Dreamworks' Shrek thrashed Pixar's Monsters, Inc., both in terms of box-office and awards, going on to win the first ever Academy Award for an animated feature. In 2002, 20th Century Fox and their partner, Blue Sky studios, came up with the first Ice Age movie, which was the biggest animated film of 2002 in terms of box-office grosses. Granted, Disney/Pixar still came up with rock-solid flicks like Finding Nemo and The Incredibles, but it was clear they were not the rulers of the roost, especially considering that Shrek 2 was the top-grossing film of 2004, outgrossing The Incredibles by nearly $200 million. The myth of Disney's invincibility was shattered. The field was now open, and one would think that with such thriving competition, the players would strive to do their best.
The problem, however, was that suddenly, every idiot with a PC and the appropriate software suddenly believed he could come up with a CGI blockbuster, with no real regard to quality control. While the Shrek movies have been a blast, everything that the Dreamworks Animation studios have produced since (which, incidentally, does not include Wallace and Gromit, which they only distributed) has been quite puerile. Last year's Madagascar was shite, as was A Shark Tale the year before. The idiots seem to think that by stuffing a movie with superstar comedians and peppering their scripts with pop-culture references they automatically have on their hands works of art. Unfortunately, their formula has translated into box-office success.
Even a Pixar-less Disney took a shot at the CGI genre with last year's Chicken Little, which is easily the worst CGI film I have ever seen, and probably one of the worst movies I've ever seen as well. With its cardboard characterizations and its thoroughly irritating soundtrack the movie wasn't even up to par with most Saturday morning cartoons. While they managed a hit, its success was nowhere near that of their Pixar stuff, which should tell them something. Happily, their latest effort without Pixar, a Madagascar ripoff entitled The Wild, looks like it's stalling right out of the gate. At least that looks like it'll be nipped in the bud.
Joining the fray are Warner Bros. and Sony Pictures, which appear to be hastily shoving together animation divisions. WB is producing TWO movies, Happy Feet and The Ant Bully, and while the former shows off some spectacular camerawork and slick animation technique, they both seem pretty flaccid scriptwise, at least if the jokes cracked in their trailers are any indication. Sony Pictures' Open Season just looks putrid, from the amateurish way the digital characters are rendered to the lines they spew out. They should just stick to making Spider-Man movies.
What made hits like the Pixar movies, the Shrek films, and even the first Ice Age movie extra special cinematic outings were, at the very heart, well-crafted scripts with thoroughly fleshed out characters and truly clever jokes. As much as I loved the animation of The Incredibles, it's the lines I find myself going back to again and again. The studios out to ape their success should also take this important fact into consideration: most of these films take two to three years to make, and are as much labors of love as they are commercial enterprises. The latest software and camerawork do not an animated classic make. Robert Zemeckis has the right idea, even though 2004's Polar Express was not terribly well-written; his latest CGI/performance capture opus, Beowulf, is currently in gestation and won't hit cinemas till late 2007 or mid-2008. AND it will feature a script by acclaimed writer Neil Gaiman. THAT'S the kind of quality these people should aspire to invest in their features.
I make an impassioned plea to the general public. Don't take your kids to see animated movies just because they're CGI or because they have some McDonald's tie-in. I, for one, refuse to take my kid to see The Wild, which will be out soon. I'm similarly hesitant about every other movie except for Pixar's Cars. As the paying public, only we can get across to these creeps in their business suits that the only movies we want our kids to see are the GREAT ones.
Before the movie even began, I saw, or should I say, was subjected to trailers for FIVE computer-generated imagery (CGI) cartoons. In no particular order, they were Cars, The Wild, Happy Feet, The Ant Bully and Open Season. I'm just glad I was spared having to watch the trailer for Over the Hedge, Dreamworks' Animation's latest offering, for the nth time.
Competition is usually a good thing, especially in a creative environment, where lack of any real rivals tends to result in stagnation.
Walt Disney's animation studio was a good example. Back when Disney had a monopoly on quality animated feature-length films (in the days of the hand-drawn cartoon), the company churned out several decades' worth of classics, up until the dawn of the new millenium, when they seemed to lose their touch, around which time their partner Pixar started producing the next wave of animated classics under the Mickey Mouse banner. Disney's last hand-drawn hit, 2002's Lilo and Stitch, played a lot more like an extended Saturday morning cartoon than gems like Aladdin or even Tarzan.
In the days of the hand-drawn cartoon, particularly its renaissance in the 90s, a lot of studios tried to ape the success of Beauty and the Beast by churning out cheaper, shoddier cartoons like Ferngully, The Magic Sword, and similar excrement. The good news is that these turkeys faded quickly into the night, and were few and far between. The bad news is that Disney, with no real competition in sight, ended up producing crappy movies.
But with the dawn of Pixar, it seemed that the decline of Disney's hand-drawn fortunes didn't matter as they seemed to have a new way to monopolize the success of the cartoon feature: make CGI movies!
Sadly for them, this didn't happen as more than one studio was able to offer some pretty stiff competition. In 2001, Dreamworks' Shrek thrashed Pixar's Monsters, Inc., both in terms of box-office and awards, going on to win the first ever Academy Award for an animated feature. In 2002, 20th Century Fox and their partner, Blue Sky studios, came up with the first Ice Age movie, which was the biggest animated film of 2002 in terms of box-office grosses. Granted, Disney/Pixar still came up with rock-solid flicks like Finding Nemo and The Incredibles, but it was clear they were not the rulers of the roost, especially considering that Shrek 2 was the top-grossing film of 2004, outgrossing The Incredibles by nearly $200 million. The myth of Disney's invincibility was shattered. The field was now open, and one would think that with such thriving competition, the players would strive to do their best.
The problem, however, was that suddenly, every idiot with a PC and the appropriate software suddenly believed he could come up with a CGI blockbuster, with no real regard to quality control. While the Shrek movies have been a blast, everything that the Dreamworks Animation studios have produced since (which, incidentally, does not include Wallace and Gromit, which they only distributed) has been quite puerile. Last year's Madagascar was shite, as was A Shark Tale the year before. The idiots seem to think that by stuffing a movie with superstar comedians and peppering their scripts with pop-culture references they automatically have on their hands works of art. Unfortunately, their formula has translated into box-office success.
Even a Pixar-less Disney took a shot at the CGI genre with last year's Chicken Little, which is easily the worst CGI film I have ever seen, and probably one of the worst movies I've ever seen as well. With its cardboard characterizations and its thoroughly irritating soundtrack the movie wasn't even up to par with most Saturday morning cartoons. While they managed a hit, its success was nowhere near that of their Pixar stuff, which should tell them something. Happily, their latest effort without Pixar, a Madagascar ripoff entitled The Wild, looks like it's stalling right out of the gate. At least that looks like it'll be nipped in the bud.
Joining the fray are Warner Bros. and Sony Pictures, which appear to be hastily shoving together animation divisions. WB is producing TWO movies, Happy Feet and The Ant Bully, and while the former shows off some spectacular camerawork and slick animation technique, they both seem pretty flaccid scriptwise, at least if the jokes cracked in their trailers are any indication. Sony Pictures' Open Season just looks putrid, from the amateurish way the digital characters are rendered to the lines they spew out. They should just stick to making Spider-Man movies.
What made hits like the Pixar movies, the Shrek films, and even the first Ice Age movie extra special cinematic outings were, at the very heart, well-crafted scripts with thoroughly fleshed out characters and truly clever jokes. As much as I loved the animation of The Incredibles, it's the lines I find myself going back to again and again. The studios out to ape their success should also take this important fact into consideration: most of these films take two to three years to make, and are as much labors of love as they are commercial enterprises. The latest software and camerawork do not an animated classic make. Robert Zemeckis has the right idea, even though 2004's Polar Express was not terribly well-written; his latest CGI/performance capture opus, Beowulf, is currently in gestation and won't hit cinemas till late 2007 or mid-2008. AND it will feature a script by acclaimed writer Neil Gaiman. THAT'S the kind of quality these people should aspire to invest in their features.
I make an impassioned plea to the general public. Don't take your kids to see animated movies just because they're CGI or because they have some McDonald's tie-in. I, for one, refuse to take my kid to see The Wild, which will be out soon. I'm similarly hesitant about every other movie except for Pixar's Cars. As the paying public, only we can get across to these creeps in their business suits that the only movies we want our kids to see are the GREAT ones.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
V for Vanity
In terms of source material, V for Vendetta is easily the most intelligent of the latest slew of comic-book based films (and even possibly of all of them). While most comic book movies are content to be slam-bang, a hundred thrill-a-minute action films, this movie dares to be different by tackling a rather sensitive theme: terrorism.
Unfortunately, the filmmakers, most significantly screenwriters Andy and Larry Wachowski of Matrix fame (or infamy depending on which installments we're talking about) trade Alan Moore's caricatured allegory of Thatcher's England for a hit-you-over-the-head diatribe against the Bush government. And it is here that the movie stumbles. I say this as someone who utterly despises Dubya and his policies.
The movie is set in a totalitarian London taken right out of George Orwell's 1984. Civil liberties are a thing of the past, and the whole nation is run by the iron fist of High Chancellor Adam Sutler (John Hurt). Enter V (Hugo Weaving), a one-time political dissident whose body has been radically altered by horrific genetic experiments conducted by the government on many of its political prisoners in a secret detention center. V is at once a freedom fighter, a poet, a master swordsman, and a madman. He spends the entire movie concealed behind a Guy Fawkes mask and under a page-boy wig. In the course of the movie, of course, we're made to understand why.
In the course of his clash with the government, V rescues and is rescued by a twenty-something employee of a state-run television station, Evey Hammond (Natalie Portman). He pulls off a particularly daring raid on a television station, sending an anti-government broadcast all across London which sets the police, led by Inspector Finch (Stephen Rea), on his trail. Apparently, he plans to blow up Parliament on November 5 of the next year, just as historical figure Guy Fawkes attempted to do in the 1600s.
What follows is the unravelling of the mystery of who V is and how he came to be, as well as his rather intimate relationship to the government and its dark secrets.
Writer Alan Moore has openly disowned this movie, and although it is entertaining in its own right, it is easy to see why. The problem posed, really, is an ideological one. I've never actually read it, but I've heard that Moore's original graphic novel juxtaposed fascism against anarchy. V was not out to restore people's civil liberties, but simply to destroy the establishment and replace it with its antithesis. V is an anti-hero, in short, and this is evident even in his relationship with Evey, which, although still somewhat dark in the movie, has apparently been romanticized considerably from its original incarnation in the comics.
The problem here is that, rather than preserve the integrity of Alan Moore's original vision, the Wachowskis would rather preserve their own message that Bush is the devil incarnate, so they refuse to saddle V with character quirks such as moral ambiguity. V, a man who wants to blow up buildings and who murders at least two dozen people in the course of the film, is depicted as a man on the side of the angels, which is actually somewhat dangerous.
A good character to compare V to, if only because they both are anti-heroes, is Tom Hanks' world-weary hitman in The Road to Perdition (also a comic-book adaptation). Never once did Sam Mendes and screenwriter David Self try to convince us that Hanks' character is anything other than a killer. He's a sympathetic character, to be sure, but he is a bad guy who does bad things, whose fate at the end fo the movie is practically pre-ordained. That we identify with him and his moral quandary is one of the movie's triumphs.
V, by contrast, is even more murderous than Tom Hanks' hitman, but it is clear from the music, from the lighting and dialogue that we are meant to cheer him on. That is one train I just cannot ride.
Still, in terms of action and pacing, both the cast and crew acquit themselves well. Natalie Portman is effectively the eyes and ears of the audience, and she carries the film admirably, even though her English accent seems a little spotty here and there. Hugo Weaving was quite well-cast as V, especially considering that the mask he perpetually wears is sometimes as difficult to watch as it undoubtedly was for him to act behind. John Hurt, who plays the movie's least fleshed out character, tries to make do with what he has, but he can't elevate Sutler beyond the pasteboard figure that the script makes him out to be.
The irony of the Wachowski brothers efforts is, given how blatant the movie is in its intentions, it's likely that the only people who will even go and see it are the people already inclined to hate Bush, so essentially they'll be preaching to the choir.
This movie certainly has some entertainment value, but it's not nearly as brave as its makers would like to believe.
Unfortunately, the filmmakers, most significantly screenwriters Andy and Larry Wachowski of Matrix fame (or infamy depending on which installments we're talking about) trade Alan Moore's caricatured allegory of Thatcher's England for a hit-you-over-the-head diatribe against the Bush government. And it is here that the movie stumbles. I say this as someone who utterly despises Dubya and his policies.
The movie is set in a totalitarian London taken right out of George Orwell's 1984. Civil liberties are a thing of the past, and the whole nation is run by the iron fist of High Chancellor Adam Sutler (John Hurt). Enter V (Hugo Weaving), a one-time political dissident whose body has been radically altered by horrific genetic experiments conducted by the government on many of its political prisoners in a secret detention center. V is at once a freedom fighter, a poet, a master swordsman, and a madman. He spends the entire movie concealed behind a Guy Fawkes mask and under a page-boy wig. In the course of the movie, of course, we're made to understand why.
In the course of his clash with the government, V rescues and is rescued by a twenty-something employee of a state-run television station, Evey Hammond (Natalie Portman). He pulls off a particularly daring raid on a television station, sending an anti-government broadcast all across London which sets the police, led by Inspector Finch (Stephen Rea), on his trail. Apparently, he plans to blow up Parliament on November 5 of the next year, just as historical figure Guy Fawkes attempted to do in the 1600s.
What follows is the unravelling of the mystery of who V is and how he came to be, as well as his rather intimate relationship to the government and its dark secrets.
Writer Alan Moore has openly disowned this movie, and although it is entertaining in its own right, it is easy to see why. The problem posed, really, is an ideological one. I've never actually read it, but I've heard that Moore's original graphic novel juxtaposed fascism against anarchy. V was not out to restore people's civil liberties, but simply to destroy the establishment and replace it with its antithesis. V is an anti-hero, in short, and this is evident even in his relationship with Evey, which, although still somewhat dark in the movie, has apparently been romanticized considerably from its original incarnation in the comics.
The problem here is that, rather than preserve the integrity of Alan Moore's original vision, the Wachowskis would rather preserve their own message that Bush is the devil incarnate, so they refuse to saddle V with character quirks such as moral ambiguity. V, a man who wants to blow up buildings and who murders at least two dozen people in the course of the film, is depicted as a man on the side of the angels, which is actually somewhat dangerous.
A good character to compare V to, if only because they both are anti-heroes, is Tom Hanks' world-weary hitman in The Road to Perdition (also a comic-book adaptation). Never once did Sam Mendes and screenwriter David Self try to convince us that Hanks' character is anything other than a killer. He's a sympathetic character, to be sure, but he is a bad guy who does bad things, whose fate at the end fo the movie is practically pre-ordained. That we identify with him and his moral quandary is one of the movie's triumphs.
V, by contrast, is even more murderous than Tom Hanks' hitman, but it is clear from the music, from the lighting and dialogue that we are meant to cheer him on. That is one train I just cannot ride.
Still, in terms of action and pacing, both the cast and crew acquit themselves well. Natalie Portman is effectively the eyes and ears of the audience, and she carries the film admirably, even though her English accent seems a little spotty here and there. Hugo Weaving was quite well-cast as V, especially considering that the mask he perpetually wears is sometimes as difficult to watch as it undoubtedly was for him to act behind. John Hurt, who plays the movie's least fleshed out character, tries to make do with what he has, but he can't elevate Sutler beyond the pasteboard figure that the script makes him out to be.
The irony of the Wachowski brothers efforts is, given how blatant the movie is in its intentions, it's likely that the only people who will even go and see it are the people already inclined to hate Bush, so essentially they'll be preaching to the choir.
This movie certainly has some entertainment value, but it's not nearly as brave as its makers would like to believe.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
On UP Grads Winning Beauty Pageants
Maybe it's the snob in me (who I didn't even know existed, incidentally), but I personally feel slighted by the sudden boom in beauty queens who graduated from my old alma mater, UP Diliman. It's funny how, when a law school classmate of mine joined the BB. Pilipinas contest in 2001 and won, I was one of those cheering her on, but after seeing several more of them join, and seeing two them win in as many years, I find myself bothered.
The latest winner, Lia Ramos, who happened to finish the same undergraduate course as I did (Political Science) recently defended beauty pageants, saying that they aren't exploitative. While I'll leave it to Gabriela and similarly oriented groups to debate that point, my concern is a tad different. I can't help but feel that beauty pageants, in their own way, keep us in the dark ages when it comes to appreciating true beauty.
Thanks to instantaneous communications technology, we find ourselves bombarded with more and more sensory stimulants by the day, and as a result, appearances seem to matter more than anything. Individuality remains a subversive concept, which has even been hijacked by these asshole clothing companies that purport to sell it on their racks.
In this day and age of bulimia and insecurity, it is important that people should be reminded that looks aren't an all important thing. To my mind, there is no one better to lead this charge than those more enlightened among us, namely the intelligensia (if I've misspelled this, someone please tell me). In my honest opinion, UP grads should be at the forefront of such a group.
It strikes me as a tad off, therefore, that UP grads (among them a lawyer and a poli sci grad, for Pete's sake) seem to tackle things from a completely different direction! Instead of distinguishing themselves in their field by championing environmental causes or something truly significant like that, they're joining contests that before anything else place emphasis on physical beauty! They explain that this is a way to put themselves on the map and therefore get people's attention so that they can share whatever advocacy it is they want to push. And then there's all that self-confidence stuff.
Well, I can't help but feel that there are plenty of other ways by which such obviously intelligent people can make an impact in society, particularly when they are of such phenomenal academic pedigree and are drop-dead gorgeous to boot. They don't really have to try to so hard to work within the system because the system is already skewed in their favor. Beauty and brains, sad to say, trumps plain old brains, really. So why bother putting even more premium on appearance by joining these contests? It's starting to get annoying.
Well, maybe it's just the snob in me. It only started bothering me, after all, when UP grads started figuring so prominently in these things.
The latest winner, Lia Ramos, who happened to finish the same undergraduate course as I did (Political Science) recently defended beauty pageants, saying that they aren't exploitative. While I'll leave it to Gabriela and similarly oriented groups to debate that point, my concern is a tad different. I can't help but feel that beauty pageants, in their own way, keep us in the dark ages when it comes to appreciating true beauty.
Thanks to instantaneous communications technology, we find ourselves bombarded with more and more sensory stimulants by the day, and as a result, appearances seem to matter more than anything. Individuality remains a subversive concept, which has even been hijacked by these asshole clothing companies that purport to sell it on their racks.
In this day and age of bulimia and insecurity, it is important that people should be reminded that looks aren't an all important thing. To my mind, there is no one better to lead this charge than those more enlightened among us, namely the intelligensia (if I've misspelled this, someone please tell me). In my honest opinion, UP grads should be at the forefront of such a group.
It strikes me as a tad off, therefore, that UP grads (among them a lawyer and a poli sci grad, for Pete's sake) seem to tackle things from a completely different direction! Instead of distinguishing themselves in their field by championing environmental causes or something truly significant like that, they're joining contests that before anything else place emphasis on physical beauty! They explain that this is a way to put themselves on the map and therefore get people's attention so that they can share whatever advocacy it is they want to push. And then there's all that self-confidence stuff.
Well, I can't help but feel that there are plenty of other ways by which such obviously intelligent people can make an impact in society, particularly when they are of such phenomenal academic pedigree and are drop-dead gorgeous to boot. They don't really have to try to so hard to work within the system because the system is already skewed in their favor. Beauty and brains, sad to say, trumps plain old brains, really. So why bother putting even more premium on appearance by joining these contests? It's starting to get annoying.
Well, maybe it's just the snob in me. It only started bothering me, after all, when UP grads started figuring so prominently in these things.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Traditional Meets Avante-Garde
As a comics fan, I am fond of great stories, more than anything else, and of the creative teams that are responsible for them. I'm not really into "event" books, like Infinite Crisis and its ilk, and truth be told I'm still banging my head on the wall that I paid for two issues of House of M.
The favorite comics in my collection involve writers and artists who I feel are at the top of their game. I treasure my issues of Amazing Spider-Man by J. Michael Straczynski and John Romita Jr, my issues of X-Men by Joss Whedon and John Cassaday, and my issues of Ultimates by Mark Millar and Bryan Hitch. I feel these books are more important than megahyped event books because of the way they alter status quos without trying too hard to do it.
It's nice to know, however, that even though the big comics companies are caught up in "universe altering event" mania, that they can still come up with books that stick to the basics, i.e., put a dynamite creative team together and just let them do their work, free of any "change the world" directives.
One such book I'm really looking forward to is "The Eternals," coming this June from renowned writer Neil Gaiman and my all-time favorite comic book artist, John Romita, Jr.
Though just about everyone credits Frank Miller and Alan Moore with revolutionizing the superhero genre, to my mind Neil Gaiman has done more still to win respectability for comic books in general as a legitimate form of literature. I'm fairly certain that it was his work for DC Vertigo that has bridged the gap between "funny books" and literature, especially since he is well known for having achieved a great deal of success writing both. In college, one thing that really struck me about the man was that (as consummately shallow as this may sound) girls read his books. Enjoying his "Sandman" was not just "a guy thing."
John Romita, Jr. on the other hand, is about as traditional a comic-book professional as one can get. He's something of a latter-day Jack Kirby (a comparison which I was not the first to draw) with the exception that he has shown a LOT more versatility than the late "King" of comics. Not only that, but he's proven to be something of an "eternal" himself, considering that his career began all the way back in the seventies, and he's still going strong, still selling books while erstwhile comic greats like Chris Claremont and John Byrne have fallen by the wayside. One of the reasons he's been so enduring is that while he still maintains a distinctive style, there is no denying how remarkably he has been able to reinvent himself over and over with each passing decade. Also, he is according to both fans and his peers, able to tell a story better than anyone else in the industry.
I avoided Marvel 1602 because I had the rather unpleasant impression that the folks at Marvel were trying too hard to pander to Gaiman's penchant for writing strange, off-kilter stuff. Setting the entire Marvel universe in the 17th century was admittedly a novel idea, but it didn't really give us an idea of how Neil Gaiman would write a legitimate, mainstream Marvel book. This new project, however, is completely in continuity and involves an actual (albeit almost unused) character from Marvel's pantheon.
Bearing this in mind, "Eternals" promises to be a true marriage between exemplary traditional comic book storytelling and the virtually haute couture sensibility for which much of Gaiman's work is known.
Of course, not a single page of this series has even been penciled yet, so I don't really want to draw any conclusions until I've finished reading at least one issue, but having enjoyed Gaiman's Death and Stardust and Romita's Daredevil, Amazing Spider-Man and even Wolverine, I'm hard-pressed to imagine how this team will let me down.
The favorite comics in my collection involve writers and artists who I feel are at the top of their game. I treasure my issues of Amazing Spider-Man by J. Michael Straczynski and John Romita Jr, my issues of X-Men by Joss Whedon and John Cassaday, and my issues of Ultimates by Mark Millar and Bryan Hitch. I feel these books are more important than megahyped event books because of the way they alter status quos without trying too hard to do it.
It's nice to know, however, that even though the big comics companies are caught up in "universe altering event" mania, that they can still come up with books that stick to the basics, i.e., put a dynamite creative team together and just let them do their work, free of any "change the world" directives.
One such book I'm really looking forward to is "The Eternals," coming this June from renowned writer Neil Gaiman and my all-time favorite comic book artist, John Romita, Jr.
Though just about everyone credits Frank Miller and Alan Moore with revolutionizing the superhero genre, to my mind Neil Gaiman has done more still to win respectability for comic books in general as a legitimate form of literature. I'm fairly certain that it was his work for DC Vertigo that has bridged the gap between "funny books" and literature, especially since he is well known for having achieved a great deal of success writing both. In college, one thing that really struck me about the man was that (as consummately shallow as this may sound) girls read his books. Enjoying his "Sandman" was not just "a guy thing."
John Romita, Jr. on the other hand, is about as traditional a comic-book professional as one can get. He's something of a latter-day Jack Kirby (a comparison which I was not the first to draw) with the exception that he has shown a LOT more versatility than the late "King" of comics. Not only that, but he's proven to be something of an "eternal" himself, considering that his career began all the way back in the seventies, and he's still going strong, still selling books while erstwhile comic greats like Chris Claremont and John Byrne have fallen by the wayside. One of the reasons he's been so enduring is that while he still maintains a distinctive style, there is no denying how remarkably he has been able to reinvent himself over and over with each passing decade. Also, he is according to both fans and his peers, able to tell a story better than anyone else in the industry.
I avoided Marvel 1602 because I had the rather unpleasant impression that the folks at Marvel were trying too hard to pander to Gaiman's penchant for writing strange, off-kilter stuff. Setting the entire Marvel universe in the 17th century was admittedly a novel idea, but it didn't really give us an idea of how Neil Gaiman would write a legitimate, mainstream Marvel book. This new project, however, is completely in continuity and involves an actual (albeit almost unused) character from Marvel's pantheon.
Bearing this in mind, "Eternals" promises to be a true marriage between exemplary traditional comic book storytelling and the virtually haute couture sensibility for which much of Gaiman's work is known.
Of course, not a single page of this series has even been penciled yet, so I don't really want to draw any conclusions until I've finished reading at least one issue, but having enjoyed Gaiman's Death and Stardust and Romita's Daredevil, Amazing Spider-Man and even Wolverine, I'm hard-pressed to imagine how this team will let me down.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Two Out of Five
Every now and then I make it a point to catch all five films nominated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for Best Picture of the Year. I managed to watch all of the films nominated for the 1991, 1998 and 2003 Best Picture Oscar.
This year, I've thus far only managed to catch two of the 2005 nominees: Brokeback Mountain and Munich, excellent movies both.
Munich, which deals with the aftermath of the 1972 massacre of 11 Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics, is Steven Spielberg's dissertation on the politics of counterterrorism.
It stars Eric Bana as Avner Kaufman, an Israeli tasked by his government to head an underground team of assassins that is to exact Israel's revenge on the plotters of the Munich massacre. Bana is ably supported by a diverse cast of actors, ranging from Amelie's Mathieu Kassovitz to the next James Bond, Daniel Craig, to everyone's favorite character actor, Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush.
The movie chronicles, in almost uncomfortable closeup, the psychological and spiritual journey, and eventual ordeal, that the Israeli team of assassins undergoes as they take out one target after another, encountering harrowing snafus in more than one instance. It's about the senselessness of violence, which, incidentally, is featured quite gratuitously, although it is entirely germane to the story.
With this film, Spielberg reinforces the notion that he does his best work when he isn't saddled with Hollywood heavy hitters and their corresponding egos (the lone exception, in my opinion, being "Minority Report.") The films he made with pre-packaged stars (as opposed to the actor who became a star through his films, Harrison Ford), such as Hook and War of the Worlds fell short in terms of storytelling, mostly because a number of these stars seemed, with every line, to be screaming "hey, look at me, look at me! I'm in a Spielberg movie!"
The actors assembled for this film are not guilty of any such posturing. It is, more than anything else, their performances that drive home Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner's not-so-subtle point that violence only begets violence, and that as vile as the Munich massacre and all the other subsequent acts of terror committed by the PLO were, acts of pure and simple vengeance aren't really any better, especially since they do nothing to solve the real problem. The film doesn't offer its own solutions to the problem, but it does call upon the viewers to think a little harder about what the appropriate response to terrorism should be, instead of just trying to grind its perpetrators into the dirt.
Like Munich, Brokeback Mountain is a film with an agenda. It portrays a gay couple in the American West who, because they cannot live out in the open, steal several moments together over the course of two decades, with their relationship eventually ending in tragedy.
Much has been said about the fact that this movie has become a cultural phenomenon, even though it hasn't really set the box office on fire. All I have to say is, that whatever attention it's getting, it deserves.
The funny thing about it is that my stance on homosexual relationships hasn't really changed. I've always been a fence-sitter on the subject, and I don't see myself campaigning for gay rights just because I was moved by this movie. But for me, Ang Lee's greatest triumph here is that he has crafted a love story substituting a gay couple for a straight one, and pulled it off. It's heartbreaking in the way that few love stories over the last several years have been.
Heath Ledger's Ennis Del Mar is the movie's beating heart. Despite admirable performances by his co-stars, including standout acting by Michelle Williams his miserable wife Alma, this film would not take off without Heath. With minimal dialogue, he conveys to the audience just how much he loves Jake Gyllenhaal's Jack Twist, and how much it tears him up inside that he can't be with him in the way he would like.
Yes, on a macro-level, the movie says that "if only Ennis and Jack were allowed to freely share their love, then all this tragedy could have been avoided," but the truth is that such a sweeping argument is undercut by a lot of incidents in the story, most of them involving Jack's promiscuity. The film's real virtue is its very intimate, personal love story that just happens to be between two men.
These two movies don't exactly purport to change the world, but they do provide a great deal of food for thought. People who say the film industry is in a state of decline should definitely go out and see these films (and rent Sideways, for good measure).
This year, I've thus far only managed to catch two of the 2005 nominees: Brokeback Mountain and Munich, excellent movies both.
Munich, which deals with the aftermath of the 1972 massacre of 11 Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics, is Steven Spielberg's dissertation on the politics of counterterrorism.
It stars Eric Bana as Avner Kaufman, an Israeli tasked by his government to head an underground team of assassins that is to exact Israel's revenge on the plotters of the Munich massacre. Bana is ably supported by a diverse cast of actors, ranging from Amelie's Mathieu Kassovitz to the next James Bond, Daniel Craig, to everyone's favorite character actor, Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush.
The movie chronicles, in almost uncomfortable closeup, the psychological and spiritual journey, and eventual ordeal, that the Israeli team of assassins undergoes as they take out one target after another, encountering harrowing snafus in more than one instance. It's about the senselessness of violence, which, incidentally, is featured quite gratuitously, although it is entirely germane to the story.
With this film, Spielberg reinforces the notion that he does his best work when he isn't saddled with Hollywood heavy hitters and their corresponding egos (the lone exception, in my opinion, being "Minority Report.") The films he made with pre-packaged stars (as opposed to the actor who became a star through his films, Harrison Ford), such as Hook and War of the Worlds fell short in terms of storytelling, mostly because a number of these stars seemed, with every line, to be screaming "hey, look at me, look at me! I'm in a Spielberg movie!"
The actors assembled for this film are not guilty of any such posturing. It is, more than anything else, their performances that drive home Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner's not-so-subtle point that violence only begets violence, and that as vile as the Munich massacre and all the other subsequent acts of terror committed by the PLO were, acts of pure and simple vengeance aren't really any better, especially since they do nothing to solve the real problem. The film doesn't offer its own solutions to the problem, but it does call upon the viewers to think a little harder about what the appropriate response to terrorism should be, instead of just trying to grind its perpetrators into the dirt.
Like Munich, Brokeback Mountain is a film with an agenda. It portrays a gay couple in the American West who, because they cannot live out in the open, steal several moments together over the course of two decades, with their relationship eventually ending in tragedy.
Much has been said about the fact that this movie has become a cultural phenomenon, even though it hasn't really set the box office on fire. All I have to say is, that whatever attention it's getting, it deserves.
The funny thing about it is that my stance on homosexual relationships hasn't really changed. I've always been a fence-sitter on the subject, and I don't see myself campaigning for gay rights just because I was moved by this movie. But for me, Ang Lee's greatest triumph here is that he has crafted a love story substituting a gay couple for a straight one, and pulled it off. It's heartbreaking in the way that few love stories over the last several years have been.
Heath Ledger's Ennis Del Mar is the movie's beating heart. Despite admirable performances by his co-stars, including standout acting by Michelle Williams his miserable wife Alma, this film would not take off without Heath. With minimal dialogue, he conveys to the audience just how much he loves Jake Gyllenhaal's Jack Twist, and how much it tears him up inside that he can't be with him in the way he would like.
Yes, on a macro-level, the movie says that "if only Ennis and Jack were allowed to freely share their love, then all this tragedy could have been avoided," but the truth is that such a sweeping argument is undercut by a lot of incidents in the story, most of them involving Jack's promiscuity. The film's real virtue is its very intimate, personal love story that just happens to be between two men.
These two movies don't exactly purport to change the world, but they do provide a great deal of food for thought. People who say the film industry is in a state of decline should definitely go out and see these films (and rent Sideways, for good measure).
Monday, January 09, 2006
Narnia vs. Middle-Earth.
After making one of the biggest mistakes in company history by opting not to make the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Walt Disney Pictures would have been hard-pressed to make up for it, had it not been for the existence of another seminal work of fantasy, The Chronicles of Narnia. Comparisons between the two sagas are inevitable, given the time of publishing, the academic background of the writers and of course the subject matter. In my humble opinion, it's still like comparing apples to oranges. That said, the Narnia books actually lend themselves more easily to film adaptation.
First of all, each book is self-contained. Instead of having to shell out $300 million on a trilogy and then spend the next three years in devout prayer to their respective deities, as the New Line executives undoubtedly did, the Disney execs have the luxury of taking things one film at a time. They don't have to venture all of their eggs in the proverbial basket.
Second, Lewis did not share Tolkien's penchant for superfluous characters (e.g. Tom Bombadil, Beregond and Erkenbrand, to name a few of the ludicrous, throwaway characters that pop up repeatedly throughout the books, most of whom Peter Jackson rightly dispensed with in his epic adapatation). Casting, therefore, is simplified. Not only that, but as opposed to casting EIGHT mainstays (the Fellowship of the Ring), the crew only faces the challenge of casting four.
And yet...Disney still manages to drop the ball on a number of occasions.
The story is still pretty much as Lewis told it: four British children (William Moseley, Anne Popplewell, Skandar Keynes and Georgie Henley) are shipped off to the English countryside by their mother in the wake of Nazi bombings of London. While playing hide-and-go-seek, one of them stumbles on a magical wardrobe that takes her to another land. Eventually they all find there way through into a magical kingdom which they have been prophesied to save from the Jadis, the White Witch (Tilda Swinton) who has kept the country in perpetual winter for the last century. With the help of the lion Aslan (voiced by Liam Neeson), the true king of Narnia, they wage a just war on Jadis and...well you'll just have to watch the movie to see how things turn out.
The problem is the sparse character development. This is attributable both to the script and to the actors who deliver it. The four Pevensie children are terribly cast, with the possible exception of Moseley, who just barely pulls of a decent performance as Peter (but just barely). Their acting is self-conscious and monotonous, especially the two girls. One can forgive Henley, the seven-year-old who plays Lucy, but you wonder what excuse Popplewell, who plays Susan, has to offer.
The effects are certainly on par with any of the Rings movies, which figures given that a lot of the VFX team worked on those very movies. Also, rather than just go with one F/X outfit, Disney hired three, according to the end credits: Rhythm & Hues (Oscar winners for Babe), Sony Pictures Imageworks (Oscar winners for Spider-Man 2), and ILM (Oscar winners for just about every big effects movie made in the 1980s and the early 1990s). The problem is certainly not with the effects, no.
The thing is that, as impressively staged as the big battle sequence at the end is, it feels ultimately inconsequential. Let's face it, even without its fifty-year reputation, this is not the kind of movie where the outcome of the battle is in any doubt. And in any event, one is not really sure if one should care what happens to the protagonists, considering that the audience knows none of them except for Peter and Edmund. The centaur who rides/runs into battle next to Peter and shows off some cool swordfighting moves does get some screen time before the grand throw down, but just about zero development.
And it is here that the movie stumbles something awful. By the time the big battle sequences come around in the LOTR movies (one in The Two Towers, two in The Return of the King) the audience is quite familiar with not just one but several of the characters who are off to what could well be their deaths (and in some cases prove to be just that). In short, Peter Jackson meticulously developed characters he felt sure the audience could care for, even the less likeable ones. He trimmed away several of Tolkien's original creations so that he could make it easier for the audience to connect with the principal cast. He crafted a masterful script from Tolkien's prose and commanded memorable performances from just about every one of his actors, even the often-annoying Elijah Wood.
Shrek co-director Andrew Adamson was not saddled with any such problems making this movie. All he had to do was show Narnia through the eyes of four principal characters and yet, for all his mastery of digital characters, he is completely inept at coaxing decent performances out of his flesh-and-blood actors. Whereas LOTR plays like Jackson's love anthem to Tolkien's magnum opus, Adamson's film seems to scream "I just work here." He is merely a hired gun, who seems to have brought aboard only for his magic touch with pixels and his shared nationality with a genius that Disney once snubbed.
Flaws notwithstanding, Narnia is still watchable, for as long as one does not expect the second coming of The Lord of the Rings. The films are simply not in the same league. And, there's something gratifying about having it all wrap up in one film.
Now that Disney's experienced moderate success with this film, they should weigh what they could have done better and use to their advantage the fact that they can make the next film from scratch. One thing they should probably remember, though, is not to hire someone just because he's a Kiwi CGI whiz.
First of all, each book is self-contained. Instead of having to shell out $300 million on a trilogy and then spend the next three years in devout prayer to their respective deities, as the New Line executives undoubtedly did, the Disney execs have the luxury of taking things one film at a time. They don't have to venture all of their eggs in the proverbial basket.
Second, Lewis did not share Tolkien's penchant for superfluous characters (e.g. Tom Bombadil, Beregond and Erkenbrand, to name a few of the ludicrous, throwaway characters that pop up repeatedly throughout the books, most of whom Peter Jackson rightly dispensed with in his epic adapatation). Casting, therefore, is simplified. Not only that, but as opposed to casting EIGHT mainstays (the Fellowship of the Ring), the crew only faces the challenge of casting four.
And yet...Disney still manages to drop the ball on a number of occasions.
The story is still pretty much as Lewis told it: four British children (William Moseley, Anne Popplewell, Skandar Keynes and Georgie Henley) are shipped off to the English countryside by their mother in the wake of Nazi bombings of London. While playing hide-and-go-seek, one of them stumbles on a magical wardrobe that takes her to another land. Eventually they all find there way through into a magical kingdom which they have been prophesied to save from the Jadis, the White Witch (Tilda Swinton) who has kept the country in perpetual winter for the last century. With the help of the lion Aslan (voiced by Liam Neeson), the true king of Narnia, they wage a just war on Jadis and...well you'll just have to watch the movie to see how things turn out.
The problem is the sparse character development. This is attributable both to the script and to the actors who deliver it. The four Pevensie children are terribly cast, with the possible exception of Moseley, who just barely pulls of a decent performance as Peter (but just barely). Their acting is self-conscious and monotonous, especially the two girls. One can forgive Henley, the seven-year-old who plays Lucy, but you wonder what excuse Popplewell, who plays Susan, has to offer.
The effects are certainly on par with any of the Rings movies, which figures given that a lot of the VFX team worked on those very movies. Also, rather than just go with one F/X outfit, Disney hired three, according to the end credits: Rhythm & Hues (Oscar winners for Babe), Sony Pictures Imageworks (Oscar winners for Spider-Man 2), and ILM (Oscar winners for just about every big effects movie made in the 1980s and the early 1990s). The problem is certainly not with the effects, no.
The thing is that, as impressively staged as the big battle sequence at the end is, it feels ultimately inconsequential. Let's face it, even without its fifty-year reputation, this is not the kind of movie where the outcome of the battle is in any doubt. And in any event, one is not really sure if one should care what happens to the protagonists, considering that the audience knows none of them except for Peter and Edmund. The centaur who rides/runs into battle next to Peter and shows off some cool swordfighting moves does get some screen time before the grand throw down, but just about zero development.
And it is here that the movie stumbles something awful. By the time the big battle sequences come around in the LOTR movies (one in The Two Towers, two in The Return of the King) the audience is quite familiar with not just one but several of the characters who are off to what could well be their deaths (and in some cases prove to be just that). In short, Peter Jackson meticulously developed characters he felt sure the audience could care for, even the less likeable ones. He trimmed away several of Tolkien's original creations so that he could make it easier for the audience to connect with the principal cast. He crafted a masterful script from Tolkien's prose and commanded memorable performances from just about every one of his actors, even the often-annoying Elijah Wood.
Shrek co-director Andrew Adamson was not saddled with any such problems making this movie. All he had to do was show Narnia through the eyes of four principal characters and yet, for all his mastery of digital characters, he is completely inept at coaxing decent performances out of his flesh-and-blood actors. Whereas LOTR plays like Jackson's love anthem to Tolkien's magnum opus, Adamson's film seems to scream "I just work here." He is merely a hired gun, who seems to have brought aboard only for his magic touch with pixels and his shared nationality with a genius that Disney once snubbed.
Flaws notwithstanding, Narnia is still watchable, for as long as one does not expect the second coming of The Lord of the Rings. The films are simply not in the same league. And, there's something gratifying about having it all wrap up in one film.
Now that Disney's experienced moderate success with this film, they should weigh what they could have done better and use to their advantage the fact that they can make the next film from scratch. One thing they should probably remember, though, is not to hire someone just because he's a Kiwi CGI whiz.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Some Wishes for the New Year
2006 isn't even a week old, so there's a lot to look forward to, I think. I thought of the things I wanted to happen this year, and came up with a fairly short but, in my opinion, nonetheless comprehensive list. Some of the things on this list are things that I can make happen (but which I consider wishes anyway) but most of them are things that are in the hands of God or other men and women.
1. I dearly wish for my wife Theia's success in the bar exams she took last year. From experience I know what an ordeal it can be to take the damn thing more than once; it's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, much less the woman I love more than any other in the world. On top of that, I know what a bumpy road it's been for her to even get around to taking the bar, the sacrifices, the false starts, and the frustration. If she doesn't necessarily deserve it intellectually (and I feel that she does), she certainly does karmically.
2. I wish for more economic growth, and if at all possible, zero political turmoil. I might as well ask for the moon, but there it is. I'm not a fan of any of the protagonists in the political scene right now, but I have to say it doesn't look as though the economy is on the verge of imploding, like it was when Erap was in charge, so although there are admittedly issues of truth still floating about, I'd rather we just move forward. Someday the people who lied and cheated (ALL of them, and not just the ones caught on tape) will be held accountable, but I'd rather we not suffer for it.
3. A promotion. Pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it?
4. I want to lose weight, and in the right places. I loved the days when I cut a nice, slim figure at 175 lbs. At 6'0, with my frame, that was the perfect weight for me. Now it's a struggle to fit into my freaking pants. I hate it. I want to get this fat off and keep it off, damn it.
5. I wish for better movies this year. On the one hand, it saves me a bundle when I don't go out to see every other thing in the malls, but movies are something I love, and I'd hate to see the art form deteriorate into nothing. I can only watch old DVDs so many times after all.
6. I wish for the DOJ's success in prosecuting the US Marines who raped that girl in Olongapo. The fact that they're using the old "consensual sex" argument really just seals it. Those bastards did it, and if they get away with it, justice will have been raped as well.
7. I wish for my son's success in whatever school we enroll him in. I hope he gets along with other kids and learns how to read and add. He's a really bright kid, but I don't want to pressure him into being some kind of achiever. I hope school is something that agrees with him.
And we end at seven. Well, I'm not that particular about round numbers, given that I really can't think of anything else I really wish for, other, than, well, peace and prosperity for my family and friends. And for things to be a little less insane than they usually are...
1. I dearly wish for my wife Theia's success in the bar exams she took last year. From experience I know what an ordeal it can be to take the damn thing more than once; it's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, much less the woman I love more than any other in the world. On top of that, I know what a bumpy road it's been for her to even get around to taking the bar, the sacrifices, the false starts, and the frustration. If she doesn't necessarily deserve it intellectually (and I feel that she does), she certainly does karmically.
2. I wish for more economic growth, and if at all possible, zero political turmoil. I might as well ask for the moon, but there it is. I'm not a fan of any of the protagonists in the political scene right now, but I have to say it doesn't look as though the economy is on the verge of imploding, like it was when Erap was in charge, so although there are admittedly issues of truth still floating about, I'd rather we just move forward. Someday the people who lied and cheated (ALL of them, and not just the ones caught on tape) will be held accountable, but I'd rather we not suffer for it.
3. A promotion. Pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it?
4. I want to lose weight, and in the right places. I loved the days when I cut a nice, slim figure at 175 lbs. At 6'0, with my frame, that was the perfect weight for me. Now it's a struggle to fit into my freaking pants. I hate it. I want to get this fat off and keep it off, damn it.
5. I wish for better movies this year. On the one hand, it saves me a bundle when I don't go out to see every other thing in the malls, but movies are something I love, and I'd hate to see the art form deteriorate into nothing. I can only watch old DVDs so many times after all.
6. I wish for the DOJ's success in prosecuting the US Marines who raped that girl in Olongapo. The fact that they're using the old "consensual sex" argument really just seals it. Those bastards did it, and if they get away with it, justice will have been raped as well.
7. I wish for my son's success in whatever school we enroll him in. I hope he gets along with other kids and learns how to read and add. He's a really bright kid, but I don't want to pressure him into being some kind of achiever. I hope school is something that agrees with him.
And we end at seven. Well, I'm not that particular about round numbers, given that I really can't think of anything else I really wish for, other, than, well, peace and prosperity for my family and friends. And for things to be a little less insane than they usually are...
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
My Review of King Kong
King Kong is hands down my favorite movie this year. After having treated the world to his filmmaking prowess with the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Peter Jackson has demonstrated that he is very much here to stay.
Just about everyone knows the story of King Kong in the same way that everyone knows the story of Superman; a giant gorilla found on an island who...well, let's allow the three people on the planet who don't know King Kong's story some measure of suspense as to what happens in the story.
This movie presents no significant variations to the basic story, but what it does give us are incredibly fleshed out characters, including the eponymous ape. Without a word of dialogue, Peter Jackson has created a character who makes us cringe, laugh and cry in rapid succession. The most amazing thing about Kong is that at no point, and I mean no point does he look even remotely digital. Digital creatures are too often betrayed by their slickness, by their impossible symmetry. It's Kong's imperfections and awkwardness that give him flesh, that made me wonder if any point in the film, like maybe for the closeups, the filmmakers used latex and foam instead of CGI to depict Kong. I don't believe they ever did (though I could be wrong on that score).
Another skill that Peter Jackson displayed with the LOTR trilogy which sets him apart from the epic filmmakers who came before him like George Lucas and James Cameron is his ability to mine richly nuanced and textured performances from his stars. He is every inch their match, pixel for pixel, in the F/X department, but they simply cannot touch him when it comes to commanding powerful performances from the most unlikely actors (Steven Spielberg is exempt from such a comparison, having coaxed a number of brilliant performances from actors such as Liam Neeson and Tom Hanks, among others). The skill remains evident in this film.
Naomi Watts is pitch perfect as Ann Darrow. Though there are admittedly a number of skilled enough actresses out there, there is simply no one who could have pulled it off with that incredible mixture of innocence and sadness with which she imbued her character. What amazed me most about her portrayal was that, after so many roles as a mom, or a wife, and despite being 36 years old at the time of filming, she was able to play a frustrated young actress with the most amazing...freshness. Maybe some of the credit goes to the cinematographer, but it wouldn't have worked if Watts hadn't played her the way she did. You can only cheat so much, after all.
Jack Black was probably one of the more eyebrow-raising choices Jackson had to deal with when he cast the film, and the qualities that have annoyed some viewers and have pleased others are quite evident in his Carl Denham, but ultimately, the gambit works. One might say that Phillip Seymour Hoffman could have pulled off the role, but there is one thing that Black has over anyone else who might have been considered for the part, and it can be described perfectly in two words: MANIC ENERGY. His Denham is an asshole, a huckster, a fiend, but I could never bring myself to hate him because he believes too strongly in what he's doing to be all bad.
Oscar winner Adrien Brody is a good choice as Jack Driscoll, but his role is not exactly a meaty one, given that he's basically the straight-up leading man with his heart in the right place and with very little in the way of distinctive character quirks. Still, to paraphrase Driscoll himself, Brody makes it his own. Well, if nothing else, he knows how to act scared, even considering King Kong isn'et real. The problem isn't his acting at all; he just isn't given much to do but be a hero. If Universal ever ponies up money for a Hulk sequel (which I don't suppose is likely) I would LOVE to see this guy replace Eric Bana as Bruce Banner (just as I'd love to see Peter Jackson replace Ang Lee, but that's for another post altogether).
The rest of the cast is a bit uneven, though. In the case of Thomas Kretschmann (The Pianist) as Englehorn, I couldn't figure out if Jackson really wanted a guy who talked like Ah-nuld Shwarzenegger or if Kretschmann just couldn't get rid of his accent. His acting was otherwise okay, though. Although he was a tad cartoony, Andy Serkis provided us with some lovely comic relief as Lumpy the cook.
Two characters, however, irked me, both because of the way they were written and the way they were portrayed. These were Mr. Hayes, the ship's first mate played by Evan Parke, and Jimmy, the stowaway turned crew member played by the kid everyone remembers as Billy Elliot, Jamie Bell.
(spoiler alert)
First off, Parke isn't really that good an actor. You don't really get a sense of his purpose in the film, and he never elevates Mr. Hayes past the level of the black dude who gets wasted by the monster. Even before his fate in the film is ultimately revealed you never form enough of an attachment to him to really care what happens to him. He really feels like a throwaway character, and you can't help but blame both the script and the actor for this waste of running time. One wonders why on earth they spent as many minutes as they did developing the dynamic between him and Jimmy, considering the film clocks in at 187 minutes. THAT'S footage they could have cut out, really.
Second, and more annoyingly, the character of Jimmy, while adequately played by Bell (who adopts a fairly convicing American accent), feels like an unfulfilled promise. When Jimmy is first introduced, Hayes talks about his origin, describing him as "wilder than the animals in here" referring to the wild animals often shipped on the tramp steamer the characters ride to Skull Island. One gets the impression that Jimmy has been to Skull Island, and would either be terrified of it, or a useful guide when they're actually there. The film lives up to neither promise, and it's as annoying as hell. That's all, really.
Another real problem with this movie, however, is that from a narrative perspective, there are a number of things wrong with it that can make the requisite suspension of disbelief a little difficult at times.
(spoiler alert)
First and foremost is the wall that the savage natives of Skull Island have built to keep Kong trapped in his even more savage jungle. It's a hundred-foot structure made of stone. It's not topped with spikes or poison or anything. And yet, we're supposed to believe that it's able to keep out a twenty-five foot gorilla who can climb the goddamned EMPIRE STATE BUILDING with one hand holding Ann Darrow. And considering they don't want Kong to get it, why the hell would they put a wooden door right smack in front of their village?
Another absurdity surfaced a little later, when we're enjoying the beauty and danger of the Skull Island jungle, we notice a number of ruined temples, evidence that once upon a time people attempted to settle there. This is, in a word, ridiculous. We have an island populated by several (at one point) giant gorillas, more than one species of carnivorous dinosaur, and Shelob/Starship Troopers-sized BUGS, and yet...we're supposed to believe that everyday human beings WITHOUT machinegunes were able to erect magnificent temples and hew flights of stairs out of mountainsides hundreds of feet high BEFORE these various monstrosities pushed them to the fringes of the island. Preposterous, really.
Then, of course, there are all the usually convenient coincidences and deus ex machinas that are usually present in big films filled with peril. And Englehorn is used a little too often to bail out Denham and his crew.
In the original 1933 film, it would have been easier to overlook such narrative silliness. It was a simpler time, and filmmaking was a lot less sophisticated. Nowadays, such inconsistencies look sloppy, especially from Jackson, whose meticulousness made the LOTR films modern classics. Rather than obsessively blow the film up into a three-hour running time to cram everything he wanted into it that wasn't in the 1933 film, he should have spent more energy trying to make sure that everything that went into the storytelling made sense and was germane to his narrative vision.
Considering everything that's wrong with it, it's a wonder how I was even able to enjoy this film.
But enjoy it I did. The highlight, of course was the throwdown between Kong and what looked like three crossbred T-Rex/Crocodiles. Since Jurassic Park I'd been itching to see a T-Rex get its ass kicked by another creature, and after twelve long years, Peter Jackson has scratched that itch for me.
Also, because of Naomi Watts' tenderness, and WETA's unbelievably detailed rendering of Kong, the love story between them is utterly convincing and ultimately heartbreaking. This is the love story Titanic wishes it was. Without a word of dialogue, the gorilla made me feel more for his plight than Leonardo DiCaprio ever did spouting out three hours of James Cameron's putrid script.
Furthermore, while there's no denying that Titanic was, admittedly, at the time the pinnacle of digital magic, King Kong is, for all its flaws, pure moviemaking magic.
Just about everyone knows the story of King Kong in the same way that everyone knows the story of Superman; a giant gorilla found on an island who...well, let's allow the three people on the planet who don't know King Kong's story some measure of suspense as to what happens in the story.
This movie presents no significant variations to the basic story, but what it does give us are incredibly fleshed out characters, including the eponymous ape. Without a word of dialogue, Peter Jackson has created a character who makes us cringe, laugh and cry in rapid succession. The most amazing thing about Kong is that at no point, and I mean no point does he look even remotely digital. Digital creatures are too often betrayed by their slickness, by their impossible symmetry. It's Kong's imperfections and awkwardness that give him flesh, that made me wonder if any point in the film, like maybe for the closeups, the filmmakers used latex and foam instead of CGI to depict Kong. I don't believe they ever did (though I could be wrong on that score).
Another skill that Peter Jackson displayed with the LOTR trilogy which sets him apart from the epic filmmakers who came before him like George Lucas and James Cameron is his ability to mine richly nuanced and textured performances from his stars. He is every inch their match, pixel for pixel, in the F/X department, but they simply cannot touch him when it comes to commanding powerful performances from the most unlikely actors (Steven Spielberg is exempt from such a comparison, having coaxed a number of brilliant performances from actors such as Liam Neeson and Tom Hanks, among others). The skill remains evident in this film.
Naomi Watts is pitch perfect as Ann Darrow. Though there are admittedly a number of skilled enough actresses out there, there is simply no one who could have pulled it off with that incredible mixture of innocence and sadness with which she imbued her character. What amazed me most about her portrayal was that, after so many roles as a mom, or a wife, and despite being 36 years old at the time of filming, she was able to play a frustrated young actress with the most amazing...freshness. Maybe some of the credit goes to the cinematographer, but it wouldn't have worked if Watts hadn't played her the way she did. You can only cheat so much, after all.
Jack Black was probably one of the more eyebrow-raising choices Jackson had to deal with when he cast the film, and the qualities that have annoyed some viewers and have pleased others are quite evident in his Carl Denham, but ultimately, the gambit works. One might say that Phillip Seymour Hoffman could have pulled off the role, but there is one thing that Black has over anyone else who might have been considered for the part, and it can be described perfectly in two words: MANIC ENERGY. His Denham is an asshole, a huckster, a fiend, but I could never bring myself to hate him because he believes too strongly in what he's doing to be all bad.
Oscar winner Adrien Brody is a good choice as Jack Driscoll, but his role is not exactly a meaty one, given that he's basically the straight-up leading man with his heart in the right place and with very little in the way of distinctive character quirks. Still, to paraphrase Driscoll himself, Brody makes it his own. Well, if nothing else, he knows how to act scared, even considering King Kong isn'et real. The problem isn't his acting at all; he just isn't given much to do but be a hero. If Universal ever ponies up money for a Hulk sequel (which I don't suppose is likely) I would LOVE to see this guy replace Eric Bana as Bruce Banner (just as I'd love to see Peter Jackson replace Ang Lee, but that's for another post altogether).
The rest of the cast is a bit uneven, though. In the case of Thomas Kretschmann (The Pianist) as Englehorn, I couldn't figure out if Jackson really wanted a guy who talked like Ah-nuld Shwarzenegger or if Kretschmann just couldn't get rid of his accent. His acting was otherwise okay, though. Although he was a tad cartoony, Andy Serkis provided us with some lovely comic relief as Lumpy the cook.
Two characters, however, irked me, both because of the way they were written and the way they were portrayed. These were Mr. Hayes, the ship's first mate played by Evan Parke, and Jimmy, the stowaway turned crew member played by the kid everyone remembers as Billy Elliot, Jamie Bell.
(spoiler alert)
First off, Parke isn't really that good an actor. You don't really get a sense of his purpose in the film, and he never elevates Mr. Hayes past the level of the black dude who gets wasted by the monster. Even before his fate in the film is ultimately revealed you never form enough of an attachment to him to really care what happens to him. He really feels like a throwaway character, and you can't help but blame both the script and the actor for this waste of running time. One wonders why on earth they spent as many minutes as they did developing the dynamic between him and Jimmy, considering the film clocks in at 187 minutes. THAT'S footage they could have cut out, really.
Second, and more annoyingly, the character of Jimmy, while adequately played by Bell (who adopts a fairly convicing American accent), feels like an unfulfilled promise. When Jimmy is first introduced, Hayes talks about his origin, describing him as "wilder than the animals in here" referring to the wild animals often shipped on the tramp steamer the characters ride to Skull Island. One gets the impression that Jimmy has been to Skull Island, and would either be terrified of it, or a useful guide when they're actually there. The film lives up to neither promise, and it's as annoying as hell. That's all, really.
Another real problem with this movie, however, is that from a narrative perspective, there are a number of things wrong with it that can make the requisite suspension of disbelief a little difficult at times.
(spoiler alert)
First and foremost is the wall that the savage natives of Skull Island have built to keep Kong trapped in his even more savage jungle. It's a hundred-foot structure made of stone. It's not topped with spikes or poison or anything. And yet, we're supposed to believe that it's able to keep out a twenty-five foot gorilla who can climb the goddamned EMPIRE STATE BUILDING with one hand holding Ann Darrow. And considering they don't want Kong to get it, why the hell would they put a wooden door right smack in front of their village?
Another absurdity surfaced a little later, when we're enjoying the beauty and danger of the Skull Island jungle, we notice a number of ruined temples, evidence that once upon a time people attempted to settle there. This is, in a word, ridiculous. We have an island populated by several (at one point) giant gorillas, more than one species of carnivorous dinosaur, and Shelob/Starship Troopers-sized BUGS, and yet...we're supposed to believe that everyday human beings WITHOUT machinegunes were able to erect magnificent temples and hew flights of stairs out of mountainsides hundreds of feet high BEFORE these various monstrosities pushed them to the fringes of the island. Preposterous, really.
Then, of course, there are all the usually convenient coincidences and deus ex machinas that are usually present in big films filled with peril. And Englehorn is used a little too often to bail out Denham and his crew.
In the original 1933 film, it would have been easier to overlook such narrative silliness. It was a simpler time, and filmmaking was a lot less sophisticated. Nowadays, such inconsistencies look sloppy, especially from Jackson, whose meticulousness made the LOTR films modern classics. Rather than obsessively blow the film up into a three-hour running time to cram everything he wanted into it that wasn't in the 1933 film, he should have spent more energy trying to make sure that everything that went into the storytelling made sense and was germane to his narrative vision.
Considering everything that's wrong with it, it's a wonder how I was even able to enjoy this film.
But enjoy it I did. The highlight, of course was the throwdown between Kong and what looked like three crossbred T-Rex/Crocodiles. Since Jurassic Park I'd been itching to see a T-Rex get its ass kicked by another creature, and after twelve long years, Peter Jackson has scratched that itch for me.
Also, because of Naomi Watts' tenderness, and WETA's unbelievably detailed rendering of Kong, the love story between them is utterly convincing and ultimately heartbreaking. This is the love story Titanic wishes it was. Without a word of dialogue, the gorilla made me feel more for his plight than Leonardo DiCaprio ever did spouting out three hours of James Cameron's putrid script.
Furthermore, while there's no denying that Titanic was, admittedly, at the time the pinnacle of digital magic, King Kong is, for all its flaws, pure moviemaking magic.
Why I Will Never Buy a Pirated DVD...and Why I Hope Piracy Never Goes Away
I know that even if I had never been born, Spider-Mans 1 and 2 would still have been the massive, record-breaking box office smashes that they were. So would the LOTR trilogy and just about every blockbuster one could think of. I know, therefore, that mathematically, it would not make a difference to the directors, producers, writer, stars and crew of these films if I were to go out and buy pirated DVDs of their product.
But that's not why I won't buy pirated DVDs.
You see, as a film buff, one thing I like almost as much as a good film is the thought that I am rewarding, with however paltry a sum, the filmmakers who have presented me with such fine entertainment. I like that I am letting them know, with my hard-earned pesos, how much I believe in their product, how much I the experience of watching their movies has meant to me. I feel that I am letting them know that I appreciate the time, money, sweat and love they invested in these works of art. The money I spend on a movie ticket, or even on a DVD is kind of like my love letter to these filmmakers, whether or not they care to receive it.
The truth of the matter is that buying pirated DVDs is the diametric opposite of appreciating them. To me, it's like saying "I like your movie, but not enough to pay to see it. I'd rather just give my money to some unscrupulous Taiwanese or Malaysian asshole who did nothing more than click his mouse a few times to get your movie and burn it." Just imagine if EVERYONE thought like that. What if EVERYONE was like that little shit who tried to sneak a digital camera into Spider-Man 2 during one of its initial American screenings? What if EVERYONE figured that "they'll make money anyway from all the people who pay to see their movie in the US?" It doesn't take much of a genius to guess what'll happen next.
2005 saw a downswing in movie ticket sales, at least in the US. The last three years have seen downtrends in movie attendance. In short, movies are becoming riskier to produce, and while it's a distinct possibility that people simply want better films than the stuff Hollywood is currently putting out, it cannot help that people prefer to watch stuff on their home entertainment systems than trek to a local multiplex. Imagine if all that people watched were pirated DVDs.
That said, I hope piracy sticks around.
My wife hypothesized that the reason why movie companies and their distributors price real DVDs so prohibitively is their adherence to the "diamond theory." That is, if you put a high price on a product, you create the impression of "exclusivity" of your product, and theoretically a desire for it. There could be something to that, but there's no denying that the primary motivator is greed.
Why should I pay $15 for a product that only costs about $1 to make? So Tom Cruise can make his back-end profits and buy Katie Holmes her very own delivery room? The hell with that. As long as these dipshits in the industry don't feel the burn of lost profits to sales of pirated DVDs, they will price their products however the hell they want. And no one will be able to do anything about it. It's like they'll be able to hold our home entertainment hostage for exorbitant prices.
Piracy is the equalizer.
In the last several months, video piracy has helped drive DVD prices down. Significantly. I remember how, when it first came out sometime last year, the US-made Lord of the Rings: Return of the King DVD was priced at P1,300. When the distributors had a hard time selling it at that price, they knocked it down to P899, where it remains still. This notwithstanding, several copies are still gathering dust on shelves. Why? Because people aren't really interested in paying 900 for something they already have on bootleg DVDs.
So recently, the distributor of the LOTR movies, C-Interactive, released a boxed set of all three movies for P1200, including the aforementioned US made DVD. That's an average of P400 a movie, all of which are two-disc deals with all the trimmings. This is opposed to the P1300 that the pricks originally had the temerity to charge us. Chalk one up for the consumer!
In short, while personally, I'm really not interested in giving pirates any business because I'd really much rather let my favorite filmmakers how much I liked their work, I'm glad that their are people around to keep these people in check, lest they shaft me and my fellow consumers with impunity.
But that's not why I won't buy pirated DVDs.
You see, as a film buff, one thing I like almost as much as a good film is the thought that I am rewarding, with however paltry a sum, the filmmakers who have presented me with such fine entertainment. I like that I am letting them know, with my hard-earned pesos, how much I believe in their product, how much I the experience of watching their movies has meant to me. I feel that I am letting them know that I appreciate the time, money, sweat and love they invested in these works of art. The money I spend on a movie ticket, or even on a DVD is kind of like my love letter to these filmmakers, whether or not they care to receive it.
The truth of the matter is that buying pirated DVDs is the diametric opposite of appreciating them. To me, it's like saying "I like your movie, but not enough to pay to see it. I'd rather just give my money to some unscrupulous Taiwanese or Malaysian asshole who did nothing more than click his mouse a few times to get your movie and burn it." Just imagine if EVERYONE thought like that. What if EVERYONE was like that little shit who tried to sneak a digital camera into Spider-Man 2 during one of its initial American screenings? What if EVERYONE figured that "they'll make money anyway from all the people who pay to see their movie in the US?" It doesn't take much of a genius to guess what'll happen next.
2005 saw a downswing in movie ticket sales, at least in the US. The last three years have seen downtrends in movie attendance. In short, movies are becoming riskier to produce, and while it's a distinct possibility that people simply want better films than the stuff Hollywood is currently putting out, it cannot help that people prefer to watch stuff on their home entertainment systems than trek to a local multiplex. Imagine if all that people watched were pirated DVDs.
That said, I hope piracy sticks around.
My wife hypothesized that the reason why movie companies and their distributors price real DVDs so prohibitively is their adherence to the "diamond theory." That is, if you put a high price on a product, you create the impression of "exclusivity" of your product, and theoretically a desire for it. There could be something to that, but there's no denying that the primary motivator is greed.
Why should I pay $15 for a product that only costs about $1 to make? So Tom Cruise can make his back-end profits and buy Katie Holmes her very own delivery room? The hell with that. As long as these dipshits in the industry don't feel the burn of lost profits to sales of pirated DVDs, they will price their products however the hell they want. And no one will be able to do anything about it. It's like they'll be able to hold our home entertainment hostage for exorbitant prices.
Piracy is the equalizer.
In the last several months, video piracy has helped drive DVD prices down. Significantly. I remember how, when it first came out sometime last year, the US-made Lord of the Rings: Return of the King DVD was priced at P1,300. When the distributors had a hard time selling it at that price, they knocked it down to P899, where it remains still. This notwithstanding, several copies are still gathering dust on shelves. Why? Because people aren't really interested in paying 900 for something they already have on bootleg DVDs.
So recently, the distributor of the LOTR movies, C-Interactive, released a boxed set of all three movies for P1200, including the aforementioned US made DVD. That's an average of P400 a movie, all of which are two-disc deals with all the trimmings. This is opposed to the P1300 that the pricks originally had the temerity to charge us. Chalk one up for the consumer!
In short, while personally, I'm really not interested in giving pirates any business because I'd really much rather let my favorite filmmakers how much I liked their work, I'm glad that their are people around to keep these people in check, lest they shaft me and my fellow consumers with impunity.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
My First Term as a Teacher
As of ten thirty this morning I finished checking the last of my students' take-home exams. The experience was oddly cathartic, but more than that I feel immensely relieved that it's over.
Teaching for the last three months at De La Salle University has been rewarding in more ways than one. It's helped me develop aspects of myself that I never even knew were there before. And it helped me get over my fear of ever setting foot in La Salle again (after the bar).
I don't know if it's something I'll get to do again any time soon. For one thing, I won't have any load from DLSU next sem so I guess I'll have to spend the next six months at my day job, and whenever possible honing my skills for a possible second crack at the noblest profession.
As enjoyable as it was, however, I do confess that it was a bit of a nail-biting experience at times. You see, La Salle kids are smarter than a lot of people give them credit for, and more often than not they were (almost) able to put me on the spot. It was actually one of my fears that at some point the students would realize what a fraud I was, and how little I knew at that given moment. Suffice it to say, to cure myself of this early phobia I studied harder than I ever had in my life (with the exception, of course, of the bar). God, teachers have to study even freaking harder than students.
There has, however, been payoff, other than the obvious paycheck. I've been in an enclosed space with nearly thirty kids about ten years my junior, and it has helped...well...rejuvenate me. It's not that I feel I'm ready to be put out to pasture by any stretch of the imagination, but given that I'm a relatively new dad, it's nice to spend some time with a room full of adolescents and post-adolescents to prepare me for the trial that my children's own tween/teen years is likely to be years down the line.
Whether or not I get to do this again, I'm definitely grateful for the chance I've gotten. Maybe I'll write a paper or get a graduate degree before I try this again, or maybe I'll rack up some more teaching credit so that I can get a graduate degree. I don't know. Either way, this has been one heck of a ride.
Teaching for the last three months at De La Salle University has been rewarding in more ways than one. It's helped me develop aspects of myself that I never even knew were there before. And it helped me get over my fear of ever setting foot in La Salle again (after the bar).
I don't know if it's something I'll get to do again any time soon. For one thing, I won't have any load from DLSU next sem so I guess I'll have to spend the next six months at my day job, and whenever possible honing my skills for a possible second crack at the noblest profession.
As enjoyable as it was, however, I do confess that it was a bit of a nail-biting experience at times. You see, La Salle kids are smarter than a lot of people give them credit for, and more often than not they were (almost) able to put me on the spot. It was actually one of my fears that at some point the students would realize what a fraud I was, and how little I knew at that given moment. Suffice it to say, to cure myself of this early phobia I studied harder than I ever had in my life (with the exception, of course, of the bar). God, teachers have to study even freaking harder than students.
There has, however, been payoff, other than the obvious paycheck. I've been in an enclosed space with nearly thirty kids about ten years my junior, and it has helped...well...rejuvenate me. It's not that I feel I'm ready to be put out to pasture by any stretch of the imagination, but given that I'm a relatively new dad, it's nice to spend some time with a room full of adolescents and post-adolescents to prepare me for the trial that my children's own tween/teen years is likely to be years down the line.
Whether or not I get to do this again, I'm definitely grateful for the chance I've gotten. Maybe I'll write a paper or get a graduate degree before I try this again, or maybe I'll rack up some more teaching credit so that I can get a graduate degree. I don't know. Either way, this has been one heck of a ride.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
The Choices We Make
Part of Working at the Supreme Court is that whenever new decisions come out, we lawyers are the first to get copies in the form of "advance sheets." Just yesterday I read one such decision, in which we (i.e., the Court) denied a petition filed by some realty company which coincidentally enough, was represented by one of my old bosses. I had seen the file lying around back before the case was even decided, so I was acquainted enough with the case to want to read the decision through. It seems that this company had already lost on several levels, even at the Supreme Court, and was through what seemed to be sheer force of will blocking the execution of the judgment against them. Consequently, not only did the company lose, but the decision recommended the two lawyers who had signed the pleadings for disbarment...including my former boss.
I found myself thinking about this a lot, mainly because just before I started working for the court over a year ago, I was seriously considering going back to that law firm, where I would be under the very lawyer who was, excuse me, IS a potential candidate for disbarment, although I personally doubt it'll go that far. MY name could have just as easily appeared on that decision. After all, if he had asked me to help him prepare those pleadings, it's not as if I could have refused him, right? God, what a thought.
It just kills me how there are choices and then there are CHOICES, decisions you can make in an instant and forget about just as quickly as opposed to decisions which, you realize, are the best you could ever have made. I've spent most of my life making a lot of the former, so much so that in the few instances where I eventually find out that I've made the latter, it really is occasion to take pause. Had I made a different choice those months ago, there is the real possibility that I would be up for disbarment less than one year into my legal career. Wow.
I found myself thinking about this a lot, mainly because just before I started working for the court over a year ago, I was seriously considering going back to that law firm, where I would be under the very lawyer who was, excuse me, IS a potential candidate for disbarment, although I personally doubt it'll go that far. MY name could have just as easily appeared on that decision. After all, if he had asked me to help him prepare those pleadings, it's not as if I could have refused him, right? God, what a thought.
It just kills me how there are choices and then there are CHOICES, decisions you can make in an instant and forget about just as quickly as opposed to decisions which, you realize, are the best you could ever have made. I've spent most of my life making a lot of the former, so much so that in the few instances where I eventually find out that I've made the latter, it really is occasion to take pause. Had I made a different choice those months ago, there is the real possibility that I would be up for disbarment less than one year into my legal career. Wow.
Friday, November 25, 2005
You'd Think It'd be a No-Brainer...
Picture this: you're the President of the Philippines, but the legitimacy of your reign has been questioned since before the elections began. To put it another way, even before the elections were over, people were so sure that they would be rigged (by you) that there is no way that they would believe that you won them fair and square, even if you hadn't cheated. Does this sound a little convoluted? Suffice it to say that you are suffering from a crisis of legitimacy. You're willing to do the work, but no one is willing to let you do your job in peace.
What do you do then? Well, on top of trying to do your job, you try to snag every opportunity for good press that you can.
Suddenly, a news story breaks about six United States Marines allegedly raping a young Filipina over at the Subic Freeport area, and the Department of Justice, which answers directly to you, has the chance to apprehend the six accused of the crime.
This isn't about national security. It's about bringing rapists to justice, or alternatively, about ensuring that six accused of a heinous crime get a fair trial. It's simple, really: you hand the six marines over to the authorities, have them tried fair and square and look good in front of the public who is otherwise torn as to how they feel about you. Show that you are not afraid to punish people just because they're Americans, and the people who can't decide whether or not to join marches to oust you might see you in a new light and enthusiastically condemn the weevils in Congress and in other sectors of society who covet your throne.
To those who would use this as an excuse to slam the Visiting Forces Agreement, you need simply use the logical fallacy argument: point out that there are thousands of United States soldiers currently participating in the exercise, and that the proclivities of a half-dozen of them doesn't mean that the entire exercise is an invitation to rapists.
To your American counterparts, simply assure the marines of a fair trial. Who knows? They may even be acquitted.
It should be a no-brainer.
But Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has demonstrated that like every single Philippine President that has gone before her, and who may come after her until the fall of the new Roman Empire (also known as the US of A), she is completely and utterly beholden to Uncle Sam and his swaggering thugs in the White House.
Apparently, at nearly every single opportunity, the Department of Justice has dropped the ball on this case, from the way they dragged their feet in fetching the marines from the SBMA to conduct an inquest investigation so as to be able to detain them, to the idiotic stories someone at that said office has been leaking to the press about the victim of gang rape retracting her claim because "she only remembered being kissed."
And then, of course, there's the small matter of GMA sucking Bush's ass over at the APEC summit when she should have been asking him, albeit politely I suppose, to have the US Embassy turn those horny bastards over to the Philippine government.
I just can't believe that anyone would be stupid enough to try to piss this case away while millions of people, including opportunistic members of the opposition and the usual leftist suspects, have their eyes trained on the case. But Gloria and her clowns at the Department of Justice seem determined to do just that. They don't even seem to have the slightest interest in seeing that the case goes to trial.
I've often lambasted the people who've been screaming for GMA's ouster, particularly because I'm pretty sure they don't have the faintest idea how to steer the Philippines towards a better place, but would rather just grab all the power for themselves. If those six marines end up sailing off into the sunrise (towards Okinawa) because the government sat on its butt, part of me can almost picture myself joining yet another of those idiotic rallies of theirs.
Well, not quite, but I, for my part, will feel that GMA will deserve all the venom a whole lot more.
What do you do then? Well, on top of trying to do your job, you try to snag every opportunity for good press that you can.
Suddenly, a news story breaks about six United States Marines allegedly raping a young Filipina over at the Subic Freeport area, and the Department of Justice, which answers directly to you, has the chance to apprehend the six accused of the crime.
This isn't about national security. It's about bringing rapists to justice, or alternatively, about ensuring that six accused of a heinous crime get a fair trial. It's simple, really: you hand the six marines over to the authorities, have them tried fair and square and look good in front of the public who is otherwise torn as to how they feel about you. Show that you are not afraid to punish people just because they're Americans, and the people who can't decide whether or not to join marches to oust you might see you in a new light and enthusiastically condemn the weevils in Congress and in other sectors of society who covet your throne.
To those who would use this as an excuse to slam the Visiting Forces Agreement, you need simply use the logical fallacy argument: point out that there are thousands of United States soldiers currently participating in the exercise, and that the proclivities of a half-dozen of them doesn't mean that the entire exercise is an invitation to rapists.
To your American counterparts, simply assure the marines of a fair trial. Who knows? They may even be acquitted.
It should be a no-brainer.
But Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has demonstrated that like every single Philippine President that has gone before her, and who may come after her until the fall of the new Roman Empire (also known as the US of A), she is completely and utterly beholden to Uncle Sam and his swaggering thugs in the White House.
Apparently, at nearly every single opportunity, the Department of Justice has dropped the ball on this case, from the way they dragged their feet in fetching the marines from the SBMA to conduct an inquest investigation so as to be able to detain them, to the idiotic stories someone at that said office has been leaking to the press about the victim of gang rape retracting her claim because "she only remembered being kissed."
And then, of course, there's the small matter of GMA sucking Bush's ass over at the APEC summit when she should have been asking him, albeit politely I suppose, to have the US Embassy turn those horny bastards over to the Philippine government.
I just can't believe that anyone would be stupid enough to try to piss this case away while millions of people, including opportunistic members of the opposition and the usual leftist suspects, have their eyes trained on the case. But Gloria and her clowns at the Department of Justice seem determined to do just that. They don't even seem to have the slightest interest in seeing that the case goes to trial.
I've often lambasted the people who've been screaming for GMA's ouster, particularly because I'm pretty sure they don't have the faintest idea how to steer the Philippines towards a better place, but would rather just grab all the power for themselves. If those six marines end up sailing off into the sunrise (towards Okinawa) because the government sat on its butt, part of me can almost picture myself joining yet another of those idiotic rallies of theirs.
Well, not quite, but I, for my part, will feel that GMA will deserve all the venom a whole lot more.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Some Quality Alone Time
I've heard various stories of what people do when they go to take a dump in their office bathrooms. For some people, it's the only place in the entire building where they can have a smoke. I've also heard tell of people using as their shooting up/snorting venue. I've even heard a story about one guy whacking off in the stall.
Strangely, after working for over a year at the Supreme Court and two months at De La Salle University, I find myself gratified by just...going there. I don't mean the obvious relief we all feel at evacuating our bowels, no. What I mean is that it's become one of life's simple joys to go to a relatively secluded bathroom in either of the large compounds where I work, at a relatively dead hour of the day, and just sit there for five to ten minutes, even though I'm taking a crap at the same time.
It's funny how these are public bathrooms, and yet, when I use them at certain hours of the day, they genuinely feel like they belong exclusively to me. That's part of the pleasure of it, I guess, but much more than that is the idea that when I'm there relieving myself, I know that this time belongs exclusively to me. No one is going to walk up to me and hand me something that has to be typed or tell me that the boss wants to talk to me. No one is going to call me up because they know I'm at work (and besides, the spot I go to has no cell-phone signal). It's time that's exclusively mine.
And I bask in it. I am able to let my mind go completely blank; I achieve a state where absolutely nothing clutters my thoughts, not either of my jobs, not the million little distractions that flit through my mind at any other time of the day. I don't think about movies, music or literature. I don't think about anything. And thanks to a relatively fiber-rich diet, I don't even notice the smell of my own waste. I am in a state of complete tranquility for that five to ten minutes.
This period is actually all I need to help me get through the rest of my working day. Obviously in the court I go in the middle of the day, while at La Salle I go just before my six p.m. class. Both times I go, the tranquility is incomparable, especially at La Salle, where just about everyone has gone home, and there is a gentle twilight setting in just outside the bathroom window. It's beautiful in its peacefulness, and it's all mine for a few blissful minutes.
The simple joys in life are often the best...
Strangely, after working for over a year at the Supreme Court and two months at De La Salle University, I find myself gratified by just...going there. I don't mean the obvious relief we all feel at evacuating our bowels, no. What I mean is that it's become one of life's simple joys to go to a relatively secluded bathroom in either of the large compounds where I work, at a relatively dead hour of the day, and just sit there for five to ten minutes, even though I'm taking a crap at the same time.
It's funny how these are public bathrooms, and yet, when I use them at certain hours of the day, they genuinely feel like they belong exclusively to me. That's part of the pleasure of it, I guess, but much more than that is the idea that when I'm there relieving myself, I know that this time belongs exclusively to me. No one is going to walk up to me and hand me something that has to be typed or tell me that the boss wants to talk to me. No one is going to call me up because they know I'm at work (and besides, the spot I go to has no cell-phone signal). It's time that's exclusively mine.
And I bask in it. I am able to let my mind go completely blank; I achieve a state where absolutely nothing clutters my thoughts, not either of my jobs, not the million little distractions that flit through my mind at any other time of the day. I don't think about movies, music or literature. I don't think about anything. And thanks to a relatively fiber-rich diet, I don't even notice the smell of my own waste. I am in a state of complete tranquility for that five to ten minutes.
This period is actually all I need to help me get through the rest of my working day. Obviously in the court I go in the middle of the day, while at La Salle I go just before my six p.m. class. Both times I go, the tranquility is incomparable, especially at La Salle, where just about everyone has gone home, and there is a gentle twilight setting in just outside the bathroom window. It's beautiful in its peacefulness, and it's all mine for a few blissful minutes.
The simple joys in life are often the best...
Monday, November 14, 2005
Some Kind of Masochist
A few weeks ago a cousin of mine living in Albany sent several members of our family the same e-mail message. In a nutshell, she was asking that, for her birthday, we all pray that she get back together with some guy who had broken up with her and taken out a restraining order on her (something about her breaking into his apartment).
She's been in a tailspin for the last two or three years, and all of her shenanigans have involved guys, which is pretty sad because apart from that she'd actually been doing pretty well for herself over there, even without a college degree. For awhile it was as though she was completely in her element over there in America...until she started dating at the ripe old age of twenty-nine (or was it thirty? I forget). She's been with married guys, involved guys, jerks and wimps, and it seems that at the end of each and every relationship, the guy wants nothing to do with her. The restraining order recently slapped against her is one of several, apparently.
So I wrote her. I wrote about how she shouldn't pin all her hopes for happiness on this guy, or any guy, for that matter. I wrote about how she needed to go out there and experience life. I wrote about how love would and should find her when she's ready for it, not desperate for it. It felt like poetry.
It also went unanswered.
I should have known better, really. I should have known that someone who's been in and out of jail because she can't get over her habit of stalking her ex-boyfriends, someone who sees multiple shrinks so that she can get several prescriptions of various anti-depressants, and someone who has proclaimed herself a hopeless cases wasn't exactly about to say "oh thank you, Jim, for beating me over the head with what a stupid, sociopathically co-dependent bitch I've been all these years. I will surely mend my ways now." But for some reason, I couldn't help hoping.
I think I know now how all those women who are irrepressibly in love with "bad boys" feel. I've often derided them before, saying that the way they feel about these scumbuckets is really nothing more than a form of narcissism; that is, their ability to get these bad boys to "change their ways" is a way to reassure themselves of their importance in this world. This viewpoint hasn't really changed; I, too, now want to be important. I want to have an effect on this self-destructive cousin of mine, even though all the evidence tells me that she'll probably get shot by one of her ex-boyfriends while she's breaking into his apartment before so much as a word of what I say even registers.
She is my unicorn, my avocation now. Part of it is the fact that she's my first cousin, but there is something more than that as well. To be perfectly and selfishly frank, yes, I want to reaffirm my own place in this world by trying to concretely help someone else.
The funny thing about it is, I'm not sure whether or not to feel guilty or good about myself.
She's been in a tailspin for the last two or three years, and all of her shenanigans have involved guys, which is pretty sad because apart from that she'd actually been doing pretty well for herself over there, even without a college degree. For awhile it was as though she was completely in her element over there in America...until she started dating at the ripe old age of twenty-nine (or was it thirty? I forget). She's been with married guys, involved guys, jerks and wimps, and it seems that at the end of each and every relationship, the guy wants nothing to do with her. The restraining order recently slapped against her is one of several, apparently.
So I wrote her. I wrote about how she shouldn't pin all her hopes for happiness on this guy, or any guy, for that matter. I wrote about how she needed to go out there and experience life. I wrote about how love would and should find her when she's ready for it, not desperate for it. It felt like poetry.
It also went unanswered.
I should have known better, really. I should have known that someone who's been in and out of jail because she can't get over her habit of stalking her ex-boyfriends, someone who sees multiple shrinks so that she can get several prescriptions of various anti-depressants, and someone who has proclaimed herself a hopeless cases wasn't exactly about to say "oh thank you, Jim, for beating me over the head with what a stupid, sociopathically co-dependent bitch I've been all these years. I will surely mend my ways now." But for some reason, I couldn't help hoping.
I think I know now how all those women who are irrepressibly in love with "bad boys" feel. I've often derided them before, saying that the way they feel about these scumbuckets is really nothing more than a form of narcissism; that is, their ability to get these bad boys to "change their ways" is a way to reassure themselves of their importance in this world. This viewpoint hasn't really changed; I, too, now want to be important. I want to have an effect on this self-destructive cousin of mine, even though all the evidence tells me that she'll probably get shot by one of her ex-boyfriends while she's breaking into his apartment before so much as a word of what I say even registers.
She is my unicorn, my avocation now. Part of it is the fact that she's my first cousin, but there is something more than that as well. To be perfectly and selfishly frank, yes, I want to reaffirm my own place in this world by trying to concretely help someone else.
The funny thing about it is, I'm not sure whether or not to feel guilty or good about myself.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Something to Look Forward to in 2006
Fans of printed and graphic fiction may rejoice!
In April of 2006, Marvel Comics is launching the comic-book adaptation of Stephen King's DARK TOWER series. This will be a landmark in both comics and fiction in general for one very important reason: King will be writing the series (at least the inaugural story arc) himself.
The comics series, as conceived by King, will not actually be a page-to-panel adaptation of the existing books but will, if I understand the stuff I've read correctly, tell "in-between" stories; stuff that received little to no exposition in the books, as well as stuff that couldn't be told in any other medium.
Almost as exciting as the fact that one of the favorite authors of my younger days (I've read the second Dark Tower book, Misery, the Eyes of the Dragon, Needful Things, and Insomnia, but have since fallen out of touch) is hooking up with my favorite comic book company is the art team they have lined up for the project: Jae Lee of INHUMANS fame is teaming up with the spectacular digital painter Richard Isanove (who elevated the artistic impact of ORIGIN and MARVEL 1602 to levels previously unimagined). They've posted over at www.marvel.com (I don't know how to present them here, sorry), the four pages of artwork that Marvel presented to King during one of their intial meetings, and holy cow, if they're any indication of how the series is going to look, this is going to be one of the greatest comic books ever. This art looks so good, Alex Ross and Jim Lee should consider going back to art school.
Anyway, thought I'd spread the word, because for the first time in a long time (since Straczynski's first storyarc on Spider-Man, maybe), I am TRULY excited about an upcoming comic book.
In April of 2006, Marvel Comics is launching the comic-book adaptation of Stephen King's DARK TOWER series. This will be a landmark in both comics and fiction in general for one very important reason: King will be writing the series (at least the inaugural story arc) himself.
The comics series, as conceived by King, will not actually be a page-to-panel adaptation of the existing books but will, if I understand the stuff I've read correctly, tell "in-between" stories; stuff that received little to no exposition in the books, as well as stuff that couldn't be told in any other medium.
Almost as exciting as the fact that one of the favorite authors of my younger days (I've read the second Dark Tower book, Misery, the Eyes of the Dragon, Needful Things, and Insomnia, but have since fallen out of touch) is hooking up with my favorite comic book company is the art team they have lined up for the project: Jae Lee of INHUMANS fame is teaming up with the spectacular digital painter Richard Isanove (who elevated the artistic impact of ORIGIN and MARVEL 1602 to levels previously unimagined). They've posted over at www.marvel.com (I don't know how to present them here, sorry), the four pages of artwork that Marvel presented to King during one of their intial meetings, and holy cow, if they're any indication of how the series is going to look, this is going to be one of the greatest comic books ever. This art looks so good, Alex Ross and Jim Lee should consider going back to art school.
Anyway, thought I'd spread the word, because for the first time in a long time (since Straczynski's first storyarc on Spider-Man, maybe), I am TRULY excited about an upcoming comic book.
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